Politics of the Heart
by CountingAllTheStars
Summary: AU. When Clara is assigned as a researcher to a politician nicknamed 'the Doctor,' they become an inseparable pair. However, election time is approaching and tension is high in the office, especially since their main opposition, led by Walter Simeon, is intent on destroying the Doctor's good reputation. When Clara discovers the truth about Simeon, their lives are put in danger.
1. A New Beginning

How had this happened?

The Doctor flexed his left hand as he watched the barrel of the gun. A thin layer of sweat rested on his top lip as the tension in the room mounted to an unreachable peak. His chest was physically pulsing from the racing rhythm of his heart, and in that moment, the Doctor had never been so afraid in his entire life.

Not at the gun aimed at his head. No.

At the small, delicate hand gripping his upper arm, and the person who it belonged to, standing on his immediate right. The person who he would protect with his life because she was the most precious thing to ever walk the earth.

And he had dragged her into this mess.

* * *

** Chapter One: A New Beginning**

Clara Oswald had to catch a bus to her new job that morning, and for the fifth time in her life, she wondered why she never invested any time in driving lessons. Her skirt was uncomfortably tight in her attempt to look like a posh business woman with a fancy job, but as she shimmied her way through the crowds on her bus to get off at her stop, she was starting to question how anyone could dress that way every single day.

Of course, when she received the news last week that she had been given a job as a political researcher, she was more than ecstatic. The first thing she did was call up her father who, in his time, had worked in politics as well. If truth be told, Clara was only interested in politics because it was the last connection she now had with her father, who had been quite withdrawn and conservative since her mother died eight years previously.

The researching role was for the popular political party, _Gallifrey_. In the current coalition, they were the larger half. Dave Oswald – Clara's father – had been a backbencher for Gallifrey up until a few years ago. Clara had never wanted to be a representative, personally. She was far more interested in writing and researching than speaking for the masses and debating moral issues.

Gallifrey was one of three major political parties, but its main opposition lay in the form of their coalition partner – _Skaro_. As Clara walked down the street in her chunky high heels, she passed one of Skaro's large posters stuck to a billboard. Bright and impressive, it showcased the face of the new party leader; a man with a thin, pointy jawline and cold shadowed eyes. '_Walter Simeon'_ the caption read, _'promising you change through great intelligence.' _

His gaze followed Clara as she continue down the street, and she felt like it was piercing her as she let herself into Gallifrey's main office inside the executive buildings. It was spacious and wide, decorated with red and gold, and even more posh and luxurious than she imagined. She made her way over to the reception desk in the centre of the foyer, where a bubbly woman with bright ginger hair was sitting on a black recliner, talking animatedly into the polished red phone. As she noticed Clara approach, she gave a large smile and lifted her finger, with a hushed, "One moment please!"

Clara propped her arm onto the desk and waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call.

"Yes, this is Donna Noble, how may I help you?" As she listened to the response, Donna's bright smile suddenly faded. She rolled her eyes. "For the last time Mrs Parsnips or whatever your name is, this is _not_ the right department. No, no… Yes, I know that but – oh grow up, you stupid cow!"

Donna slammed down the phone into the receiver, turned to Clara with a brand new smile on her face, and said rather pleasantly, "What can I do to help?"

Clara blinked at her change of tone. Quickly, with a little shake in her voice, she said, "Sorry to trouble you, but I'm new to the research department and I –"

"Oh!" Donna exclaimed, looking down at a scribbled sticky note on her desk. "Yes, you're Clara Oswald! I was told to keep a look out for you. I'm supposed to lead you to wherever you're meant to be."

She stood up from her chair and brushed herself down, abandoning the red phone which was once again ringing.

"Are you sure?" Clara asked, slightly amused as Donna blatantly ignored the device. "You seem pretty busy."

Donna frowned. She pointed to the phone and the computer before shrugging. "What – that? Oh, no. Not busy at all. Being hassled more like." She gestured with a genuinely helpful smile to the corridor to the right. Clara fell into step beside her.

"I'm a temp from Chiswick, you see. Only doing this job to help out a friend," Donna confessed. "But what about you? How did you land a job as a researcher?"

"I really have no idea," Clara said honestly. "This is my first job since I left university a year ago. All of last year I was looking after two children for a family friend."

Donna grimaced. They stopped outside two double doors, and through the encrusted glass, Clara could see a busy office, alive with activity. Donna crossed her arms, quite happy to stand there talking all day. "That's generous! Can't stand kids, me. Wouldn't do that if you paid me, but I suppose –"

The door beside them gave a loud creak. Donna stopped talking and turned around as if the noise had physically offended her. A tall woman was standing in the threshold, with perfect posture, smiling politely, her green eyes landing on the chatty receptionist.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Donna," the woman greeted, with a small nod. Her tone was crisp but light.

"Sorry, Vastra," Donna said, giving a short chuckle. "I was just delivering the newbie. Making a little conversation." When Vastra didn't respond, Donna sighed. "Right, okay, I'll get back to work. Nice meeting you – Clara, wasn't it? If you need anything, come and see me."

Clara muttered a few words of thanks. Donna shot Vastra another carefree grin before striding down the corridor, calling out to some guy who had just disappeared around the corner. "Oi! Gustus!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "You owe me a fiver, you bloody miser!"

Vastra gracefully took Clara's hand and shook it, firm and steady. She opened the door and allowed Clara to step through. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Clara Oswald. I look forward to working with you."

Blushing, Clara's lips turned into a shy smile. She was about to respond when her eyes fell onto the scene in front of her. The office was in an absolute chaos, and bigger than she ever expected. It almost looked bigger on the inside. There were around five desks in total, all but one littered with stray pieces of paper, covered in remains of empty lunch boxes and take away wrappers. Bright windows emphasised the messiness of the room, with one window on the far left covered with layers upon layers of sticky notes. At the back of the room was a mahogany door, decorated with a small golden plaque, telling the name of someone Clara couldn't quite make out.

"This is the primary research department for International Development," Vastra announced with a wave of her hand. When Clara looked impressed, Vastra added, "Well, that was our intention. Lots of people come and go from different departments now. Organisation isn't our main skill. But this is where you will be working, Clara. The clean desk, the one beside John's door, is yours."

Clara raised her eyebrows as she glanced over to it. "John?" she asked.

Vastra frowned. "Yes. John Docherty. That's who you've been assigned to. Did you not receive the letter I sent you?"

"No," Clara said, alarmed. "Sorry, I only got a phone call telling me I'd got the job and where to go."

"Not to worry. I'm sure there's just been a mix up," Vastra reassured, although a hint of concern flashed in her green eyes. As soon as Clara noticed it, however, the tall woman placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her towards the mahogany door – John's door. "I'll introduce you to John, and then I'll leave you to it."

A wave of anxiety washed over Clara. She'd never heard of John Docherty before, but she was sure he was a highly ranked MP for Gallifrey. How would he react to her; a young woman, only out of university, without any sort of experience, taking a job that was extremely important to his future role as a politician? She didn't know the position was for a _personal_ researcher when she had applied over a month ago. She thought she would be working as a team, for the party as a whole. What if he thought she wasn't good enough?

Vastra rapped the door three times and called, "John! Your new researcher is here."

"Ah, yes, hold on a minute, Vastra! I'm in a bit of a muddle!"

There was a loud bang from the other side and a small 'ow!' Vastra emitted a heavy, long sigh and shook her head in exasperation. Clara was suddenly intrigued – he sounded younger than she initially imagined. And less… serious.

The door clicked as John unlocked it from the other side. Vastra pushed her way through, gesturing for Clara to follow.

If Clara thought the office was messy, then she definitely wasn't prepared for the state of John's room. Hundreds of arch-lever files were stacked on one side, almost toppling over from the sheer weight. Books stacked on polished wooden shelves were left half open or piled in weird and wonderful organisations, overflowing from where they sat. A sofa stood just underneath the window, but it was too covered in pages and notes to be able to sit on it. The only tidy object in the entire space was John's desk, which held nothing but a computer and a few empty tea mugs.

Then there was John Docherty himself.

He was a tall man, taller than Vastra, but was gangly and almost awkward looking. He had brown floppy hair, flicked over to fashionable quiff, with the very ends curling inwards. His face was long and angular, with a square jaw which made his chin appear uncharacteristically big. His clothes were unusual too; he was wearing a blue shirt which wasn't tucked into his black trousers, and a curious purple bowtie.

Clara was taken back with pleasant surprise. Her first instinct, when she thought of a politician, was an old balding man with a stomach too large for his trousers. But John was the opposite – polar opposite of that. He was young, and handsome, and rather dashing if she allowed herself to admit.

He was also tangled in the wires of his computer, silver screwdriver in his hand as he stared at the technology, a comical confusion printed on his face. "I'm sure there's a loose connection somewhere, Vastra, I just can't seem to find it," he complained.

Vastra coughed pointedly. "Doctor, this is Miss Clara Oswald."

John nodded, only sparing her a sideways glance. It was as if something clicked in his mind, because this time, he spun all the way around to get a better look at her, pulling the wire of his computer too far. The monitor fell, screen first onto the desk, but he didn't even notice. With wires wrapped around his limbs, John took another step forward, his green hazel eyes wide as he stared at Clara, but apart from that, completely expressionless.

"_This_ is Clara Oswald?" John asked for confirmation. "You didn't tell me she was – oh, sorry, I mean…. What do I mean?" He scratched his head, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. As if he was noticing the wires for the first time, John dropped his screwdriver and tried to unravel the wires from around his arms. When one of his arms was completely free, he held it out for Clara to shake, an enthusiastic grin spread across his face. Clara bridged the distance between them, accepting his one hand in both of her own.

"Lovely to meet you, Clara Oswald! I'm John Docherty – but everyone calls me 'the Doctor.' Well, only those close to me. You can call me it if you like." His grin weakened. "Not like I'm implying we're going to be close, for that matter. Not like I don't want to, just not in that – well, we've only just met and I –"

Clara found herself laughing, her own face growing increasingly warm. "Don't worry, I understand. I do."

Vastra's eyes were twinkling with a knowing glitter. "I'll leave you two to it, then," she said, hovering in the threshold.

They both listened when Vastra shut the door as she left. John glanced down at his scruffy appearance, and as Clara looked away, mentally swore at himself for not making a better effort to dress properly. Hoping she wouldn't notice, he started to tuck in his shirt. When Vastra had told him on Friday night as he was leaving the office, that she had picked the new researcher for the team, and she was to be assigned to him, he hadn't taken much notice. He hadn't even thought about it that much, really.

But as he stared at an uncomfortable Clara Oswald, who was clearly waiting for him to say something, he found that he couldn't stop staring. He didn't want to look away. She was around his age, maybe a few years younger, and impossibly pretty. Not noticeably pretty, no, she was the kind of pretty that made your head turn in the street to do a double take.

And now he was feeling flustered because he had stared at her _too_ long.

"Can I – uh, get you a cup of tea?" he offered, shrugging his way out of the rest of the computer wires.

Clara gave him a dimpled smile. "Sure, I'd like that. Thank you."

"Yes. Of course." He licked his lips and walked back to his desk, peering into his stained mugs as if he was scared at what he could find. Was that mould in the blue one? He chose to abandon them and look for cleaner ones. He was sure they were somewhere in his office.

He was growing more and more aware of Clara standing in the middle of the room, on edge. He wanted to say something to her – anything – but he couldn't find the words.

Clara felt exactly the same.

"So," she started, watching as he searched for mugs in the bottom drawer of his desk. "You're the head of International Development?"

The Doctor pulled out two cracked and dusty mugs and tried to clean them with his sleeve. Now he had to locate the kettle. "Yes. Yes, I am. Cabinet minister, actually. Vastra, the woman you were talking to, is the boss of us all now. Newly elected leader of Gallifrey. " He chanced a glance at her, adding, "I don't know why she's so interested in my department all of a sudden to hire a personal researcher for me. Then again, I never understand why she's so interested in my personal life."

Clara considered this for a moment, a spark of curiosity lighting within her. "You're a bit young for such an important job."

"I could say the same to you."

Smiling, Clara felt her shoulders loosen as she began to feel more at ease. He seemed friendly enough, so far, and there was no commanding tone to his voice, which she expected from most political speakers. Even when she was younger, Clara had memories of her father talking to her in a debating manner when she had done something wrong, or didn't understand something.

Kettle in hand, the Doctor plugged it into the socket, while saying, "Everyone knows the brains behind the politician is the researcher."

As the kettle boiled, he walked over to his sofa and stared blankly at the mess. Shrugging, he decided to push the entire mass of papers onto the floor so that they had somewhere to sit. Through the pile of white and pink pages, the Doctor spotted a small blue box. He picked it up, beaming, showing it to Clara. "Ah! Found the teabags!"

It was at that exact moment Clara Oswald realised that John Docherty, MP, was the most eccentric man she'd ever met.

And she'd never _liked_ anyone so quickly in her entire life.

When the tea was ready, he joined Clara sitting on the old sofa, an apology ready at his lips. He'd run out of milk and sugar so the tea was black. Clara insisted it was fine, despite her dislike for black tea, and for good measure took a hearty sip. She was transparent, however – John laughed at her as her nose scrunched up at the taste.

"You said people call you the Doctor," Clara prompted, breaking their comfortable silence. "Why is that?"

"Hm." He held the mug between his hands and rested it on his long knees. "Partly because my surname is Docherty. People started calling me 'Doc' for short. Then, when I became a Doctor of Politics, they lengthened it. That, and people like to think I can fix any situation."

Smirking, Clara took another sip of her tea. She studied his face for a while longer; his eyes were clear and kind, with just a hint of sadness there. He was very enthusiastic with his hand movements, as well. To emphasise a point he would fling his hands upwards, and even when he was saying simple sentences, his hands were still full of movement. Like he couldn't sit or stand still, because of he did, time might catch up with him.

"I probably won't be a very good boss," he said, grimacing a little. "I've never had a _personal_ researcher before."

"If it makes you feel better, I've never been a personal researcher before, so I don't have any expectations. I guess I'm just here to help."

Something she said caused him to sadly smile while his hand brushed over his purple bowtie, like he was fixing it. He blinked slowly, staring right through her, as if her soul was visible on her sleeve. "Thank you, Clara Oswald," he said, with feeling. "I think that's exactly what I need."

The room was feeling quite hot under his intense stare. Clara got to her feet, handing him the half full mug of tea. She straightened her skirt, still feeling rather uncomfortable in her attire and clasped her hands together. "What should I do first? Where should I start?"

It took him a moment to catch up. "Oh, um." He stood up too, towering above her, almost a foot taller. "Let me think…"

He carried the mugs over to his desk and left them beside the old ones. Scratching his chin, he said, "You could research the meaning behind Walter Simeon's new slogan, if you'd like. I haven't had a chance to have a look at it yet since my computer is a bit broken."

"Right. Got it. Get to know the enemy." Clara took a mental note and slowly walked towards the door. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with a wistful, misty glint in his eyes. She pointed to his computer screen to redirect his attention. "Shall I Google how to fix your computer, while I'm at it?"

John laughed and clapped his hands together. "Yes! That would be very helpful, thank you."

Without another word, Clara closed the door behind her. She leaned against the mahogany wood, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That hadn't been bad at all. In fact, that was better than she originally hoped. John seemed to be perfectly lovely, and even Vastra – the newly elected party leader – was more than considerate to make her feel at home on her first day. She could get used to working here.

As Clara started towards her new desk, right beside John's door, she felt a large, optimistic smile fill her face.

* * *

**Note: Hello, hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This is going to be a highly fluffy, yet very dramatic AU. It won't be too politically heavy if politics isn't your thing, so don't worry about that. I don't own any rights to Doctor Who, just the story in which I base the characters. Reviews, follows and favourites would make my day – if people show interest, I will upload the next chapters more quickly. Thank you for reading! **


	2. The Boss

** A/N: A midweek update because of all those reviews! Thank you, thank you, ****_thank you_**** – that's an amazing amount for a first chapter. I was shocked people were actually interested since politics isn't a popular subject for some people. Please keep them coming, they really are encouraging! This chapter mostly consists of introductions (which aren't particularly exciting) but the flow of the plot is better from the next chapter. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

** Chapter Two: The Boss**

When Clara sat down at her desk, she barely had time to look at her computer, when a tin of biscuits was put in front of her along with a steaming, milky, cup of tea. Rather taken by surprise, Clara glanced up at the source of the tea and biscuits – it was a pretty blonde woman, only a little bit taller than her, with twinkling brown eyes and a cheery, wide grin.

"Hi!" the woman greeted enthusiastically. "I'm Rose. Rose Tyler. You're the new one, right? Clara Oswald?"

"Yep!" Clara said, matching her grin. "That's me!"

Rose dragged over the spinney chair at her own desk, the one directly beside Clara, and sat down close to her. "I thought you'd appreciate a cuppa. Way to break the ice, you know, you always get to know people best over a cup of tea. The biscuits are just for decoration."

Clara thought it was best not to ruin Rose's act of kindness by admitting she'd already had an appalling cup of tea with John Docherty. Anyway, as she tasted the milk and sugar in the brew, she had to acknowledge Rose's tea-making skill. Definitely better than John's.

"You're the Doctor's personal researcher, then," Rose stated without question.

"Yeah. Although I didn't know it until this morning. I thought it was for a team position," informed Clara, watching carefully to judge Rose's reaction. The blonde woman raised her dark eyebrows and bit her lip, giving a slow nod, like she knew something.

"Ah, I see…" Rose tried to disguise her mischievous smile. "Vastra hired you, yeah?"

Clara's eyes narrowed. "Well, she was the one to call me up." She waited a beat, her curiosity steadily growing. "Why?"

Rose jumped a little, feigning innocence. "No reason! Anyway, have you met everyone yet? Shall I introduce you?"

Just as she was about to protest against it, Rose stood up, calling the need for attention to everyone in the office. Clara groaned with embarrassment – if there was one thing she hated, it was people making a fuss of her.

"Everyone! Everyone, listen up! Have you met Clara yet? She's the new one!"

There was a chorus of 'oh!' as if they'd been expecting her for quite some time. Before she knew it, she was thrust into the centre of the conversation; with around four people all grabbing her hand to shake it. She had to really concentrate to keep up with who was who.

Jenny was a brunette woman with a freckle above her lip who was one of the top in the Justice Department, but had moved her desk down to the research floor since Vastra, her previous associative partner, became leader of the party. She had a cockney accent and smiling eyes that glistened as they met Clara's.

Strax was a small man, very tan, with beady mistrustful eyes. He was around the same height as Clara. Apparently he worked as a secretary for Defence but had been kicked out of the Defence department because of a violent argument which he started with the boss's boyfriend, Ianto. Now he worked here, in Research, so that Vastra and Jenny could keep a closer watch on him.

Then there was Martha, the secretary for Health, who wouldn't stop smiling as she introduced herself. She'd moved down to the Research floor because she was working closely on a new policy being researched by Rose.

Clara quickly realised that the Research Department for International Development was more of a mix and match of rejects from other floors and people there simply for convenience. Vastra was right when she said 'lots of people come and go.' Clara liked it, however. It was like one big family of people helping each other out, all for the same cause: Gallifrey.

Towards the far left of the room was a man wearing a huge blue military coat, holding a cup of coffee and staring at Clara intently. He waited until the small crowd had parted until swaggering over in all of his glory, parting the group. He accepted Clara's hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles, looking up into her eyes, and shooting her a wicked smile.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said, his American voice low and smooth. "And you are?"

She knew fine rightly that he'd heard Rose introduce her. "Clara Oswald," she said, unable to hide her own grin.

He raised his eyebrows as his gaze glittered with mischief. "It's a pleasure to work with you, Miss Clara Oswald."

As Clara blushed, Rose let out an exasperated sigh. She slapped Jack on the arm and started laughing. "Pity you don't work in this department, _Jack_." On a quieter note, Rose whispered to Clara, "Jack flirts with anything in a skirt. Or trousers, for that matter."

"Rose!" Jack said, acting offended. "I'll have you know I have a boyfriend. What would Ianto think?"

"_Typical Jack_, probably," put in Martha.

Clara gestured to the space between Jack and Strax. "Oh, so you're Strax's boss then? Defence Minister?"

"That's right. I was just down here asking Strax to finish that report I asked for two weeks ago," Jack stressed the length of time while pinning a glare on his secretary. Strax looked down to the ground, a small frown on his face, as if he had just been scolded.

"Sorry, sir."

"And," Jack said on a lighter note, setting down his coffee on top of a pile of papers on Rose's desk. "I'm also here to invite you all to a party at my place. In three weeks. One last celebration before the hard work of the election begins. There will be food, plenty of alcohol and lots of beautiful people." Jack took Clara's hand again and pressed another kiss to her hand. "So I expect you to be there, Clara Oswald."

Charming, Clara decided. He was definitely charming. He had a carelessly handsome face and an air of arrogance which was only adopted by someone who always got their own way. Not Clara's type, to put it bluntly. But there was nothing wrong with harmless flirting – Clara liked a challenge.

Without another word, Jack backed away towards the door and disappeared from view. The small crowd started to separate and disperse back to their desks and their work load, leaving Clara and Rose standing where they were.

As the pair walked to their chairs, Rose said, "Jack's a good man. Well, I think he's a good man. Sometimes he blurs the line, if you know what I mean."

Clara shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Rose paused. She picked up a slice of shortbread from the biscuit tin and nibbled on it thoughtfully. "He gets the name 'captain' for a reason. He used to be in the RAF. He's survived so many near-death experiences; some people think he's immortal!" Rose laughed before her tone turned into a whisper. "But he's made some decisions in his time that have been, well… difficult, to say the least. Not always the easy options."

Clara didn't question her any further. It was overwhelming, getting to know so many people in a short space of time. After a few more minutes of casual conversation with Rose, she informed Clara with a quick apology that she had to sneak out to meet her husband (a man called David) for a hospital appointment. If anyone was to ask where she'd went, Clara had to say she was away to photocopy the latest Bill passed by the House of Lords. All she told Clara was that the appointment was very important and she didn't want to ask for the time off because she hated the idea of everyone in the office gossiping about it. Clara agreed, not really knowing what she meant, and feeling a sudden mutual bond forming between her and the enthusiastic blonde woman. That tended to happen when they trusted you to cover for them after barely an hour of knowing them. Plus the tea. The tea was good.

Left to her own devices, Clara spent the rest of the day researching Skaro and their new leader Walter Simeon. Anything she found interesting about the new manifesto, she typed onto a separate document, saved for further reference and printed off a copy for John. After two hours of looking through endless pages of research, Clara had found nothing on Walter's Simeon's background. Not even a pointless Wikipedia page. Not one scrap of information.

Feeling slightly annoyed, Clara attempted a different approach. She searched the caption "_promising you change through great intelligence"_ and started flicking through the results. There wasn't something right with that line. Perhaps it was everything she'd learnt from her English degree that was telling her it would sound a lot better being: promising you change through _greater_ intelligence. As in, education would save the nation. Well, that's what Clara personally thought the new slogan meant. She was about to find out she was very wrong.

After the first five pages of results, all in relation to political party Skaro, Clara came across a photocopied page of an old journal, written in the 1700s. It was man – the name of the author too smudged to read – claiming that his new philosophical ideology would save the world. As the author highlighted his points (many of which were revolutionary for the time it was written, and still very controversial today) he used the phrase: _and this, I proclaim, is how we achieve change through the great intelligence of ideology._

Clara decided to print it off. It was an unusual find, and John might find it interesting, if not wholly relevant.

It was around five minutes to five o'clock, and close to the end of office hours, when Clara printed her final page (a Google result showing how to fix John's computer) when she rapped on his mahogany door and let herself in once she heard his light 'come in!' He was shrugging on his long brown coat with his blue scarf in one hand when he looked up to see her. At once, his boyish face beamed.

"Got some research for you," she told him, walking over to place the file onto his desk. "Couldn't find anything on Walter Simeon – sorry about that. He literally cannot be found."

There was a flicker of confusion which flashed over his eyes, but he refused to drop his smile, because he was still staring at her.

"That's alright, Clara, don't worry about it." He waved an arm in the direction of outside his office. "Just take yourself home. Must've been a pretty busy first day."

"Yeah, really hectic," she agreed; only slightly turning towards the door.

John's stomach lurched as she moved away. He didn't know why, but he wanted her to stay and chat. In a bundle of words which seemed to fall, incoherently, from his mouth, he injected, "Howareyougettinghome?"

Clara turned back around, smirking so that her dimpled cheek showed. "Sorry?"

John took a deep breath. He was sure his face was bright red. Taking his time, he asked, more calmly, "How are you getting home?"

"I usually just get the bus."

He shook his head, as if she'd just proposed something that was completely out of the question. "No, no, that won't do. London traffic at this time, not at all." He reached into his pocket and delved out his car keys, dangling them on his finger. "Would you like a lift?"

Pausing, he knew she was about to object, so he interrupted her.

"It's no trouble, and I really don't like the idea of you getting the bus," he said, needlessly worrisome. Clara was a little taken aback by his kindness. He didn't even know where she lived; it could be miles away for all he knew.

"Okay." She nodded, tilting her head to the side. "Thank you."

A little bit embarrassed, the Doctor shoved off her gratitude. "It's just a lift, Clara, least I can do for all of your work today."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow. "It's my job, John."

He smiled, taking a moment to absorb her again. Her blindingly pretty good looks were making it hard to think straight, and to top that, she seemed to be genuinely friendly. Of course, he didn't know her at all, yet. They'd only just met. But he wanted to know her. He wanted to know everything about her. His interest was well and truly sparked.

Due to John's job, he met new people every day. He knew how to get to know someone quickly – their basic traits, at least. It was part of his job. Most people in life come and go and don't really hover. He met people; he liked them, wasn't too sure or had no opinion on them. They were just another person who he had to cooperate with to do his job.

Now and again he stumbled across someone who made him properly _look_. Someone who he didn't just want to know the basics, he wanted to know more about them. It happens to everyone at least once in their life – they meet someone new, most likely unexpectedly, and you feel an instant intriguing connection. A curiosity as to why they intrigue you, why you feel comfortable around them.

An instant reaction.

He thought back to what Vastra had told him, when he had barely listened to the news of his personal researcher, and her exact words as she informed him, "_I think it's a perfect match_."

Maybe Vastra was right. Maybe they were going to be the perfect working partnership.

They walked in comfortable silence to the car park, mostly because any attempt at a conversation kept being interrupted by someone or other passing and saying a quick greeting to John. He seemed a popular face in Gallifrey. Clara picked up on how certain people acknowledged him as 'Doctor' and others as 'John.' It really was an indication of how well he knew someone. Clara briefly wondered what she should call him. On one hand they had just met, and on the other, she was his assigned personal researcher.

She preferred to stick with 'John' for now.

In the private car park, the Doctor stopped outside a large shiny blue car – a shade perfectly snuggled in between medium and dark blue. The closest colour Clara could describe it as was electric blue. It was a sports car of sorts (Clara couldn't be certain of what, since cars were no where near a speciality of hers) and extremely well cared for. The licence plate read 'T.A.R.D.I.S 63' and just as Clara looked up to ask what it meant, she noticed the Doctor stroking the side of the polished door, staring at Clara, almost for approval.

"What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Oh. He was one of those guys. Obsessed with his motor.

Clara humoured him. "Lovely, it's… well, it's a machine. It's an appliance. It does a job."

He frowned, as if she had just kicked a puppy. "Pretty cool appliance! We're not talking cheese grater here!"

She laughed at that. "Okay, okay, it's a cool car. As far as cars go. Certainly leaves an impression."

His shoulders relaxed. He pulled open the car door and held it there, gesturing for her to get in. Once again, Clara was impressed – kind _and_ a gentleman. She'd definitely landed a good job.

Once he was sitting in the driver's seat, he started up the ignition and backed out of the parking space. "Where to?" he asked, shooting her a sideways glance.

"The apartments in Palace Street."

"Oh." His lips pressed together for a moment, almost amused. "That's close to the apartment where I live."

"Oh?" Clara smiled at the coincidence. "I thought you'd live in a mansion or something," she teased.

His expression fell for a moment, but Clara supposed it was because he was focusing on the road. Ignoring her joke, he asked instead, "Do you live on your own?"

Clara sensed there was a deeper meaning to this question. So she stressed a particular word in the sentence. "I live with my friend from university. She's a lawyer now."

The Doctor looked impressed. "I bet everyone's happy to be your friends," he joked. "Have something to investigate – they have a political researcher. Have a legal problem – they have a lawyer!"

Clara laughed at that. "What about you? Do you live with someone?"

"No," he answered plainly. "I live on my own."

There was a moment of silence. He purposefully stared at the road without meeting her watchful gaze. Sensing his slightly tense posture, Clara changed the conversation as quickly as she could. They talked and talked for the rest of the journey home, laughing and teasing each other, but without really discovering anything important about one another.

The Doctor even found himself taking a wrong turn accidentally on purpose to extend their conversation. Clara pretended not to notice.

She learnt that he had two best friends called Amy and Rory. A married couple who he'd known all his life. He took pride in his job, and he was very passionate about it, as he loved the idea of helping people through his work and changing things for the better. Clara would describe him as an idealist – always striving for perfection, aiming towards creating a perfect, equal, world. The sweet sadness in his eyes also told her that he had yet to achieve any sort of this perfection in his personal life.

As for the Doctor, he was no where near satisfied from the amount of information he was able to squeeze out of Clara. She was originally from Blackpool – her and her roommate – but both had moved to London for university. She had a degree in English and Politics, although, she regretted to admit to him she had a greater interest in English than Politics. She was only three years younger than him, only one year out of university, and was very ambitious. Through her big words and hopeful dreams, the Doctor could see someone who was vulnerable and more scared of life than she wanted to admit.

So, when he left her to her apartment, and insisted on walking her up to her door, she thanked him for his generosity.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Clara Oswald," he said, reluctantly backing away towards the staircase.

"Yep," she agreed, beaming. "I look forward to it."

As the words slipped out of their own accord, Clara felt her cheeks grow warm. She glanced to the floor as she rustled in her bag for her keys, and looked up just in time to see him give her a small wave from the top stair. She laughed as he stumbled on the second step.

Clara's hand wrapped around her keys just as the door to her apartment was flung open. The Doctor was halfway down the steps now, but Clara still flinched at the unexpected movement, some part of her still focusing on the sound of the Doctor's footfalls. Nina was standing in the open doorway, her mouth gaping as if she had witnessed a scandalising scene. Clara shot her a raised eyebrow.

"Who was that _delightfully_ sexy man and why were you talking to him?" Nina asked.

Clara shot her friend a smug smirk. "Oh Nina, that's just my boss."

Nina's face was priceless as Clara closed the door behind them, the story of her first day being John Docherty's personal researcher ready on her lips.


	3. Debating Deputies

** A/N: The plot thickens in this chapter, as does the political element slightly – I'm not an expert in politics, but I do have a B at A-Level in the subject and I did my work experience at the Northern Ireland Executive (basically the devolved version of Westminster). I've witnessed heated debates in the assembly chamber and sometimes they can be explosive. This story loosely follows British politics (hence the use of 'right honourable…') and electoral systems, since I've had to make up my own rules for the plot to make sense. Thank you to everyone reading, and an even bigger thank you to the reviewers! Please keep them coming! **

** Chapter Three: Debating Deputies**

Clara had barely stepped into the office, with Donna chatting animatedly at her side, when John came rushing towards her, as if she was the only destination in the world. He was flustered, busy, rustling papers as he stopped in front of her, his eyes alight with energy.

"Clara, Clara, Clara," he rushed, gesturing to the outside corridor. "We have an assembly in the chamber in ten minutes. And I mean _we_. I want you to come with me."

Clara stuttered, looking up at him with wide eyes. "What – how – only MP's can sit in the chamber. What can I do?"

"You probably haven't been inside the chamber yet, but it's slightly different than how it looks on television. Just above the camera range there's a seating section for observers, so that they can look down on the debate. That's where you go."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Take notes. Anything you find important, anything at all." He took in her slightly startled and nervous expression, and bent over to give her forehead a quick, friendly, kiss. "Thank you for this! It's really going to help. Meet me outside the chamber in a few minutes, okay? I have something to do first."

And then he rushed off through the double doors, leaving her standing with Donna, quite confused.

Donna took a long sip of her coffee before saying sarcastically, "How did he ever manage without you? He's only had you a day and he's already relying on you to do his job for him."

"Oh my god, Donna!" Clara panicked, staring blankly around the office. "I'm not ready for this – how am I going to keep up with what they're saying? What am I supposed to write down? It's only my second day, I barely know my way around the buildings! This is too important, what if I screw it up?"

Donna smiled sympathetically and patted Clara's back. "Hey, it's alright. The Doctor's the nicest bloke there is, he won't care if all you do is doodle throughout the entire debate!"

"Do you know what the meeting is for?" Clara asked her as Donna followed her over to her desk, where she started gathering notebooks and pens. "Is it an important one?"

"Let's see…" Donna looked to the ceiling as she remembered the schedule sent to her this morning. "I think – yeah, it's definitely the announcement of the new party leaders' deputy's."

Clara gaped. "But that's a big deal!"

"Better get a move on then, come on!" said Donna, clapping her hands. "Can't be late, can you? This is your time to shine."

Clara had to suppress the urge to drop everything and run back home to safety. She had no time to prepare for this, she'd barely gotten over the hectic first day she'd have and now John had well and truly thrown her into the deep end. She was going to be surrounded by journalists, political enthusiasts, people who would look down on a twenty four year old researcher, only out of university for a year. Politics was a competitive business. She feared she couldn't keep up.

Clara didn't know how she made it across the courtyard in four minutes flat, but she met John outside the chamber bursting with people. He grinned as she approached, reaching out to grab her hand so she wasn't swept away in the crowd.

"You're going to be fine," John encouraged, almost as if he could read her mind. "Take a seat close to the front, so you can really see what's going on."

"But why do you want me here, John?" Clara shouted over the chattering swarm. She felt tiny in the mix of politicians and journalists.

John smiled with a twinkle in his eye. "I want your opinion. It's never what the opposition says – it's what they don't say. Keep that in mind."

And with that, he left her. As he made his way through the mahogany doors to the chamber, Clara stood there for a few long seconds, simply staring at the place he'd disappeared. She felt a mixture of irritation and confusion at him, but that was only because she was intimidated by her surroundings. Really, it should be a compliment that John trusted her opinion so quickly and gave her an important job so soon in their working relationship. But all Clara could think of when she climbed the stairs to the observation area was the judging stares of competitive journalists and fellow researchers with more experience, analysing every move she made.

Everyone here was fighting for the best story line, the best analytical angle. The UK would be watching for this announcement – as Clara took her seat on one of the cream chairs situated directly in front of the glass barrier, looking down on the assembly chamber, she could see BBC News reporters readying themselves outside the threshold and right beside them, their competition, ITV journalists.

John was relying on her, personally, to report the best perspective.

At that thought, Clara sought out John taking his seat in between Vastra and Jenny on the front row to the right of the chamber. Just as she laid eyes on him, he glanced up to the viewing boxes, searching for where she was. When he spotted her, he gave her a small wave before settling down and whispering something to Vastra and Jenny.

Clara breathed out a shaky breath. A stringy woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose took the seat beside Clara. Automatically, Clara stiffened as she felt the woman's eyes peer into her face. She refused to meet her gaze and kept her own gaze locked on the politicians taking their seats.

That was when she saw Walter Simeon for the first time in the flesh. He was just as cold and haughty as he appeared in the election posters. His brown hair was swept back from his face, exploiting his angular chin and nose. He was talking to a man with short mousy brown hair in a tight black suit, his hands clasped behind his back.

Clara searched the left side, full of members of Skaro, trying to pick apart the opposition. She recognised some faces in the party; either because they were recently in the news or her father had mentioned them when he was a backbencher. Davros Dalek was sitting on the left of Simeon, his aged face frowning and his dark eyes shadowed. Then there was Madame Kovarian sitting in the middle of the second row with her curly hair pulled into a tight bun and her dark lipstick-lips pouting. They didn't look a friendly bunch, Clara noted absent-mindedly. Skaro were always known for being tough competition.

The Speaker (an old man with a humble face called Wilfred Mott) called for order in the chamber. As silence started to fall, he stood up, his hands resting on the mahogany desk in front of him. "We are here to announce the new deputy positions of party Gallifrey and party Skaro," Wilfred bellowed to the attendants. Clara noticed how the red light had turned on for all of the cameras looking down on the proceedings. "Will the Right Honourable Lady Vastra please declare her new deputy for Gallifrey?"

Vastra brushed down her skirt before standing. Placing both hands on the despatch box, her eyes fixed on the microphone attached to it, she took a deep breath.

The tension in the chamber was static.

"I declare the new deputy of Gallifrey to be my friend, the Right Honourable Gentleman, John Docherty."

Clara's stomach lurched.

John's eyes were wide and disbelieving. The shock was clear as day on his face. There was multiple mutterings from Gallifrey, grunts of agreement, hands reaching down to pat him on the back. Vastra took her seat again, an amused smile filling her lips and she rested a delicate hand on John's shoulder.

"Will the Right Honourable Gentleman, John Docherty, accept the position?" shouted Wilfred over the chatter.

John, still surprised, failed to hear the question. Jack, sitting directly behind him, pushed John into reality. He staggered towards the despatch box and microphone, unsure of where to look or what to say.

"I do. Thank you," he said with a nod towards Wilfred.

Then, as he sat down again, a large smile overtook his face.

Clara found herself smiling with him, a strange sense of pride filling her chest. Suddenly she was glad that John had asked her to come with him, otherwise she would've missed the perfect picture of shock turning to happiness on his boyish face. Clara glanced to Simeon, who was waiting for his turn to speak, and had to do a double take.

Simeon's face was twisted. Clara couldn't describe it any other way. His nose was scrunched up, his lips pulled into more of a growl than frown and his icy blue eyes shooting daggers towards John. Clara flinched at the hatred present on his face. That wasn't usual political competitiveness – that was downright loathing, to the point where Clara was surprised Simeon wasn't leaping over the red lines on the carpet and attacking him.

Wilfred was clearing his throat and calling for order. With a gesture towards the left side of the room, he shouted, "Will the Right Honourable Gentleman, Walter Simeon please declare his new deputy for Skaro?"

As if in slow motion, Simeon stood in front of the despatch box. He rested his left hand on the box, followed by his right. His gaze was trained on Vastra as he said in a tone barely above a whisper, "I declare the new deputy of Skaro to be my friend, the Right Honourable Gentleman, Harold Saxon."

There was a collective gasp in the chamber. The stringy journalist beside Clara was practically on the edge of her seat, scribbling frantic endless notes onto her notepad. Not only were there noises of protest from Gallifrey but from Skaro as well – MP's were on their feet, shouting at Simeon, others yelling at Wilfred to take control.

"Order, _order_!" Wilfred bellowed, slapping his hand against the table. "Will the Right Honourable Gentleman, Harold Saxon, accept the position?"

It was the man Clara had spotted earlier – mousy brown hair, skinny, with a tight black suit and think black tie. He had a glint to his eye, something Clara couldn't quite place, as he leaned down to speak loudly into the microphone, so that his voice would still be heard over the angry out roar.

"I do, kind speaker," Harold said, then he turned to stare directly at the camera, flashing his smoothest smile.

Clara had never heard of him before and she guessed that was part of the problem. Judging by the whisperings surrounding her in the observation level, people were shocked at a junior minister receiving such a high position so soon in his career. "Davros was ought to have it!" said a journalist behind Clara, for all to hear. "He's even been there longer than Simeon!"

Clara knew that was true. She used to hear her father come home from work and mention a name here and there, and on more than one occasion he had definitely mentioned Davros. Whatever the causes behind Simeon's reasoning, it had definitely created something of a controversy. The chamber below was mess of rioting voices and in the middle of it – Simeon sitting perfectly calm, Saxon smug beside him. On the other side of the chamber, Vastra was completely still, expression gathered and précised. Jack was whispering something into John's ear, who seemed to be bristling.

As the noise in the chamber continued, Wilfred slapped his hand against the desk again, but it was lost in the chaos. "Dismissed!" he shouted, utterly defeated as he stepped out of the speaker's chair.

Clara immediately jumped to her feet and rushed out of the observation level. She stopped halfway down the stairs, wondering how she was going to push through the tide of politicians emptying the chamber. Walking up a security officer, she flashed him her pass before shimmying through the crowd sideways, breaking free by standing with her back against the wall. The only people in the chamber who had no yet moved were Vastra, Jenny, Jack and John on the Gallifrey side and Simeon, Saxon and Davros for Skaro. From where Clara was standing, she had to skirt across from Skaro to meet John where he was sitting. She felt the watchful stare of Simeon as she crossed the chamber.

John got to his feet as she approached with a wide smile on his face. But as Clara met his gaze, she noticed there was something behind his eyes, something bothering him.

"Well?" he asked, his voice tight. "What did you think?"

"I think a congratulations is in order," she teased.

"Yes," said a voice from behind. Clara and John both turned at the same time to see it was Simeon addressing them. "Congratulations, Doctor. A worthy choice, if I do say so, Vastra."

Vastra was impassive, but her eyes were alight with some kind of misplaced fury. "I wish I could say the same to you, Simeon."

Clara flinched at the retort. She looked to the opposition to see a reaction.

Harold Saxon was smiling. He had his hands low in his pockets, the exact picture of calm, as if this was all just a big joke to him. "Now, now, Vastra," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Don't judge me yet. You hardly know me."

Jack stepped into the conversation. His gaze was narrowed as he stared at the leaders of Skaro. "But what do you think of this, Davros? This is, what – the third time you've been denied a leadership role for Skaro?"

Davros paused. He pushed himself to his feet with a large effort, puffing out a sigh. "I have no desire for a leadership role, Harkness." For emphasis, Davros slapped Simeon's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "You should know better than anyone that just because you aren't part of the leadership doesn't mean you don't have an influence."

"We're a partnership, if you like," Simeon said, shooting a curiously glance towards the Doctor. John frowned, his hand resting on the small of Clara's back as he directed her towards the exit.

"Come on, Clara. We're going," John muttered.

Simeon stepped in the way of their path, causing Clara to stop short, her back hitting against John's stomach. Simeon bent his head down to look at her. His eyes roamed across her face, drinking in the smallest detail. Clara had the urge to take a step back but John hadn't moved from directly behind her. She was trapped in between them.

"And who's the new addition to the family?" Simeon asked, his breath hitting her in the face.

"Clara," she answered, meeting his eyes. "Clara Oswald."

Simeon didn't look up at him as John added stiffly, "My personal researcher."

"Oh?" Simeon straightened, his eyebrows rising as he did. "That's an unusual job."

"It's an important job," John snapped.

"I hired her," Vastra explained, coming to stand beside the pair. "She was too good not to hire."

Clara wanted to say something but lost the words in her mouth. Simeon's eyes were on her once again, and John awkwardly scooted them both out of his path. John's hand was still on the small of her back as they sped down the now empty corridor, Clara's small legs working to keep up with the pace he was setting.

"John?" Clara attempted as soon as they were out of listening length. "What's wrong? That seemed… tense."

He kept guiding her onward, and as she looked up at him, she saw his face set into a worried frown, his lips pressed tightly together. She barely knew him, but she knew that wasn't the face of a happy one. Especially from someone who had just been promoted.

Clara stopped. She stood her ground and faced him, her chunky heels digging into the carpet. John almost stumbled over her before he processed her movement. He gazed at her, his eyes wide and one of his hands smoothing back the quiff of his hair.

"Tell me, John. How are we supposed to work together when there are secrets between us?"

That was the first time Clara Oswald ever challenged him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He admired her for it – second day on the job and she was making sure she wasn't going to be walked over. He had respect for her for that. But that didn't mean he wanted to answer the question.

"Now?" he hissed, pointing a thumb further up the corridor. "We have to do this now?"

"Yes," Clara snapped. "There's obviously something going on. I'm not an idiot."

"No, Clara Oswald, I think you're far from an idiot. That's why I asked you to come today." His eyes dropped to the ground. He brushed his feet over the green carpet, chin almost touching his chest. He heaved a sigh. "Not here. I can't say anything here. Let's go back to my office."

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not getting out of this."

"I don't intend to." With a small smile he glanced up, holding out his hand. She paused before taking it, measuring out his honesty. He gave a low chuckle and shrugged. "I'd rather you hear it from me than from the newspapers, which are no doubt being written right now."

Clara was a little taken back. She nodded, once, and bridged the gap to accept his hand. They set off in silence towards his office, at a more measured, equal pace. A question ready at Clara's lips and half of the truth ready at John's.

* * *

**Note: Please review! It really encourages me to know people are still readying and enjoying. (I also accept ideas, if someone wants to see a specific scenario between the characters which doesn't greatly affect the plot, I sometimes write it in. Just putting it out there!) **


	4. Halfway Home

** A/N: I'm going to mention everyone who has reviewed so far in the next chapter as a big thank you! This chapter is all about John and Clara building up trust and slowly bridging the gap between being new co-workers and good friends before gradually moving onto something more. (If you know what I mean) So, please, just stick with it – I don't want to move too quickly and then it seems unbelievable. Next chapter will be up within the next few days if people take the time to drop a little review. Just a little one – I understand there's not much to comment on yet. (Although I'm dropping hints and twists everywhere) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

** Chapter Four: Halfway Home**

John held open the door for Clara before closing it behind him. Clara noted with a little amusement that he had tidied his office considerably since her last visit the day previously. The sofa was now completely free from clutter and he had a new stack of clean mugs sitting in their pride of place on his desk. John spotted her smile as he sat down on the sofa and patted the space beside him. He nodded towards the shiny new mugs and shrugged.

"I didn't want to put you through the terror of a dirty mug, in case we ever have a tea date again." His eyes bulged and his hand flew up in the air to stroke his chin, shaking his head adamantly. "Not like that _was_ a date. A – A tea meeting, I should've said. Sorry."

Clara plopped down beside him and smirked. "No need to apologise, John."

"No," he eyed her for a moment, almost suspiciously. "No, no, of course not."

John Docherty was a lovely man. Very sweet, very considerate. But he was definitely quirky and weird.

"So," Clara said, wanting to get back on topic. "Walter Simeon definitely doesn't like you."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"Back there, outside the chamber, you said you'd need to tell me before the newspapers –"

"Yes." He heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes, tiredly. He stared at the ground, taking his time to answer. Clara was patient as she watched his internal struggle. His mind was in a conflicting state – a part of him, a large part of him, wanted to tell Clara the honest truth. The truth he hadn't told anyone, not even Vastra. It was bursting to get out of him, like a firework within his chest, especially now Harold Saxon was deputy of the opposition. But he was afraid; not afraid for himself, afraid for whomever he told. Now, as he glanced up at Clara, who he had only known for two days, and her large watchful eyes, full of curiosity and eagerness, he knew he didn't want to put her in that position. He couldn't do that.

"Harold and I go way back, Clara," the Doctor started, his voice barely a whisper. "We grew up together. Went to university together. I got a Doctorate and he studied for a Master's. But we fell apart quite quickly, as if our years of friendship hadn't meant anything. We had different views on the subject we both had a passion for. There was one point where we both intended to be representatives of Gallifrey but his ideologies radically changed towards that of Skaro."

He stopped because if he went further, he would be crossing a barrier.

Clara seemed to pick up on his pause.

"Would old friends really turn to enemies so quickly?" Clara asked as her mind wandered to Nina. She doubted her friendship with Nina would be broken if she decided to vote for Skaro in the upcoming election instead of Gallifrey. But then again, their entire friendship wasn't based on one thing.

John grimaced. "You'd be surprised. When you've known someone all your life, the more you have to hold against each other. You know each other in and out. Weaknesses, desires, ambitions. Suddenly you've never been so vulnerable."

Clara wasn't so sure. She crossed her arms and leaned closer to him, studying his reaction when she asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

He raised his eyebrows, a soft smile on his lips. Vastra was right – she _was_ good. Perfect for politics; she seemed to be able to catch someone out from a mile off. For the Doctor, in his life full of secrets and lies, he wasn't sure if that was strangely refreshing or positively terrifying.

"There's a lot of competition and bitterness between Harold and I. On my part, it's mostly gone. But Harold, ever since he was a kid, has held onto stuff and refused to let go. He's still out to get me," he explained, his tone taking a darker angle. "And that is why Walter Simeon chose him for deputy. Vastra chose me. Simeon picked the one person who could irritate me the most. Harold Saxon. That's where the newspapers come in. They're going to pick up on that."

"But why does Simeon hate you so much?"

The question he couldn't answer. John licked his lips. Clara could see something behind his eyes – a reluctance of some sort, an uncertainty. She couldn't blame him if he didn't trust her yet; they hadn't known each other long. Clara had learnt from her father that some things in politics were only supposed to be kept between politicians, and to be shared with no one else. But that didn't mean she didn't want him to confide in her, nonetheless. She'd like them to build a relationship where he could confide in her about anything and she would do her best to help.

Of course, it was always easier said than practiced.

"Simeon is… the situation with Simeon is a lot more difficult, Clara."

Clara felt a pang of disappointment. She tried not to let it show, and instead, comforted him with a warm smile. "I understand."

"You do?" The shock was clear in the Doctor's voice.

"Yes. I do." She patted his knee to reassure him. "My dad was a politician before – well, before…" her own confession died on her lips and she glanced away uncomfortably.

The Doctor was intrigued. "Your dad was a politician?"

"Yeah – backbencher for Blackpool constituency. But he gave it up, in the end."

The Doctor squinted as something in his mind clicked into position. Clara _Oswald_. He'd heard that surname before. Oswald, Oswald, Oswald. Ah – there it was!

"Dave Oswald!" he exclaimed, pointing in Clara's face as she raised her eyebrows. "Yes, of course! That was around the same time I was doing my internship. He left because his wife died, Jackson said –"

But as the memory came back to the Doctor, the words slipped out of his mouth and the meaning of those words, the implications, became very clear. It was too late to take them back, and as he sat with his mouth hanging open, he noticed that Clara was on her feet and walking towards his office door. Her back was turned to him and her head was hanging low. He felt a terrible stab of guilt as he realised what it all meant, the connections, how he'd hurt Clara…

"Wait, Clara, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I didn't realise…"

She didn't turn around, but she stopped at his door, her hand on the handle. Her voice was too high pitched to be natural. It was forced, for his benefit. "I'm sure you have a lot to be getting on with. I think Vastra left something for me to do on my desk; I better see what it is."

She waited, for a brief nanosecond, if he would say anything back. Then, she vanished through the threshold without a single glance in his direction, leaving the Doctor sitting on the sofa as he slapped his palm against his forehead.

* * *

Clara was sitting in front of her computer, her fingers working over the keyboard as her mind wandered to John. She knew he hadn't meant any harm, and he hadn't upset her as such, it was just a shock to her; for someone to know her personal situation before she had the chance to explain. It had been eight years and the grief had faded from Clara's chest, but the pain still flickered there, especially whenever someone brought up the topic of her mum too suddenly. It was something personal; something in which she hardly talked to her father about, a part of her which she had lost – and she was desperately trying to put back together – holding the fragments over her heart. Her father was too close to talk to and the Doctor was practically a stranger. It didn't feel right. Nina was the only person she was able to reminisce with over the memory of her mother, probably because Nina had never lost anyone close to her, and she had that emotional firmness that Clara needed.

Once again, it was Rose who interrupted her thoughts. The blonde woman slid a yellow foam takeout box across her table, trying not to disturb Clara's typing. Clara glanced down as it steadily made her way in front of her, turning to Rose with an expected grin.

"Thought I'd buy you chips for covering for me yesterday," Rose explained with an embarrassed grimace. "Then I thought, hm, Clara doesn't seem like a _plain_ chip person. She's more of a curry chip girl, if you ask me."

Clara flipped open the box to see a generous portion of chips swimming in curry sauce. She chuckled.

"You're absolutely right. I love curry chips, thank you."

Rose opened her own portion and handed Clara a white plastic fork. "No, thank _you_. I don't know what I would've done if I had to tell people where I'd really went."

"Is everything alright?" Clara asked, her voice coloured with concern.

"Oh, yeah, everything's great!" Rose said enthusiastically. "You'll find out why very soon. It's too early to say anything yet. Well – just in case."

But Clara had a funny feeling she knew why Rose sneaked off to the hospital yesterday. Especially when she slipped an extra box of chicken nuggets out of her bag and offered her one.

"So," Rose said after sticking a whole chicken nugget in her mouth. "Married, single, what's the deal?"

Clara's eyes widened at the personal question. "Oh um, very single."

Rose laughed. "_Very_ single. I like it."

"No, no, it's not that," Clara said quietly, suddenly very interested in her chips. "I'm just glad to be rid of the last boyfriend, that's all."

"Oh." Rose's entire body tensed. She turned her head to the side to study Clara's face, her dark eyebrows lowered with concern. "He wasn't… _bad_, was he?"

"No," answered Clara, slowly. "He just wasn't good."

Despite her reserves about her mother, Clara didn't mind talking about her mess of an ex-boyfriend. That part of her life was just one big regret and discussing it meant she was sure never to go back. Ever. Perhaps there was a part of her that thought if she talked about it enough casually then she wouldn't care as much, either. But whenever she thought about him, all she now felt was relief. It was never nice to be in a destructive relationship, especially when neither person could see how destructive it really was. If it hadn't been for Nina and her father warning her, Clara was sure she would still be in the relationship today.

"What about you?" Clara asked to change the conversation. "Tell me about David."

Clara could sense Rose's appreciation for a change in topic. Her shoulders relaxed and she leant back in her chair, munching thoughtfully on a chip. "Tall, thin, unbelievable hair." Rose rolled her eyes at the thought of it. "He's a doctor. A proper medical doctor. David and the Doctor – I mean, John – are cousins, you know."

Clara gave a light gasp. "No way! Cousins?"

"Yep! John and David practically grew up together."

The words toppled out of Clara's mouth before they even processed in her mind. "Good hair must run in the family."

Rose stopped eating to peer at her. Clara immediately blushed. As Clara tried to hide her face with her hair, Rose gave a delighted giggle, rolling her head back against her chair.

"Oh, you fancy him!"

"I do not fancy him," Clara hissed, leaning closer so that they wouldn't be over heard. "I barely know him. I've just observed that he has very nice hair."

"Mhm, you see, that's how they get you." Rose stated matter-of-factly, pointing her white plastic fork at Clara. "First you admire their hair. Then you start noticing small little quirks which grow to be irresistible. Before you know it, you're head over heels in love."

Clara rolled her eyes and shot Rose an amused smirk. "I am not falling in love with my boss, Rose. That's properly bonkers."

Rose stared at Clara as if she had the upper hand in this argument. There was a challenge in her eyes, a silent promise, but Clara smiled through the teasing. It would take a lot to make Clara fall in love after she fell too hard and fast in her last relationship, and it certainly wouldn't be John Docherty to make her change her mind. Clara made limits for herself in life long ago – never get drunk at a staff party, never say 'I love you' until he says it first, and never, _ever_ get romantically involved with the boss.

"You can play matchmaker all you like," Clara said, responding to Rose's persistent stare. "But it's never going to happen."

* * *

When it came to five o'clock, Clara and Rose were idly chatting while packing away their personal belongings. Neither of them noticed John's private office door creak open inch by inch before the man himself walked out. He was wearing his long coat, open and loose, with his blue scarf casually thrown around his neck and not tied. He edged towards Clara's desk, and when she didn't notice him, coughed to make himself known.

She jumped a little when she spotted him standing there. An awkward tension hanging in the air as she remembered their last encounter.

"Hi, John," she said lowly, looking for some kind of reaction.

His hands were flailing again. Touching his chin, the back of his neck, his hair, wrapping around his ribs. "Would you like a lift?"

Yesterday it had been a question without any consideration to the answer. Today, he was genuinely asking. Poking the problem to see if it was still there. What he was really asking was: _are we okay after earlier?_

"Yeah, sure," Clara agreed with a nod.

She purposefully avoided Rose's watchful gaze as she left with John. No doubt first thing tomorrow morning Rose would be on her case.

Clara was very aware of herself, more than usual, when she stepped into the TARDIS, as the Doctor called his sports car. There was an awkward silence between them; Clara didn't know what to say, and the Doctor was afraid of bringing up his tactlessness earlier in case it made Clara uncomfortable again. It wasn't until they were halfway home when the Doctor finally broke the silence.

"I, uh, have a similar situation," the Doctor started, coughing nervously again. "Actually, it's not really similar. Not in the same way. But I… I've lost both of my parents. So I can understand why what I said earlier – well, it wasn't appropriate. Sorry."

That really wasn't what Clara was expecting to hear. She turned to him, her lips parted and her eyebrows pulled together. What did she say to that? Her heart was sinking in her chest.

The Doctor shot her an alarmed sideways glance. "I didn't mean to – sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up again. Forget I said anything. Oh, look – the sky is turning pink, isn't that pretty?"

He gave a nervous chuckle.

Clara shook her head. Her eyes were feeling watery and she tried to blink it away. "No, it's okay, John. I'm not upset. I just wasn't expecting people to know why my dad quit politics." She waited a beat. "I'm sorry to hear about your mum and dad."

He looked positively relieved. Shuffling in his seat, he shrugged, feigning impassiveness. "When I say I lost them, I mean I actually, properly lost them. They went missing when I was nine."

Clara couldn't help the shocked, "What?" that escaped from her lips.

"Yeah. Rose's husband, David, is my cousin. He lost his parents too – they both died in the war. We grew up together with our granddad. He was more than happy to take us in, considering he'd lost both of his sons." He met her gaze again. His big eyes were round and glistening and they made Clara's chest pang with sympathy. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I don't usually tell anyone."

At a loss for words, Clara squeezed the Doctor's right arm to comfort him. "I'm glad you did. I'm sorry, I had no idea – I must've made you feel terrible earlier."

"Not at all." He said adamantly as he parked the car. "You actually made me feel better. I would've reacted the same if someone randomly brought up my parents disappearing."

Clara had a lot of questions, but she felt like they'd opened up to each other enough for now. She imagined it took a lot for him to confess his history to her – she could see it in the sad sparkle of her eyes – and pushing him for more wasn't right. Right now, she didn't know how to feel. She couldn't stop staring at him as they sat in his car outside her block of apartments, overcome with a deep, sad feeling of gratitude. He was obviously trying to show her that he did trust her, and he wanted to build up a trusting relationship with her, despite the fact he couldn't honestly answer some political details, like how Simeon seemed to hate him. This was him compensating, and Clara was grateful he would even make the effort. It was more than what she expected.

"Thank you for the lift home." Once again, something which was said yesterday meant so much more.

The Doctor gave her a genuine smile. "Any time."


	5. Worries and Wine

** A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far: ImpossibleClara9, OhMyStarsShiz, Guest, ALoveableGuest, Guest, DizzyheartsDizzyMinds, UcichaHakura64, doctah, cyanvines2, Guest, remembermecleverboy, XxSnowyDreamsxX, Guest, Guest, whoufflemysouffe, Sahara, Yugicanbesexy, sasswriterchick, ThePotterDoctor, Guest, Guest, Dede42 and v. Those of you who have reviewed more than once have double the love. But I love all you guys, seriously. I was going to reply to some questions about the plot, but I really don't want to give anything away – just stay tuned. As ever, reviews make my day. Thank you to the person who recommended this story as well, especially since we're now only five chapters in. Hope you enjoy this rather fluffy (and random) chapter!**

** Chapter Five: Worries and Wine**

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Another minute of silence had passed.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Harold Saxon looked from the floor to Simeon, who was sitting behind his desk, tapping his hand onto the dark oak table, staring at a contract in front of him. Davros was standing beside the window, staring into the world beyond, quite content in his waiting. Saxon shuffled, restless, and breathed out a long, discontented sigh.

"You have the patience of a rat, Harry," Simeon snapped, his hand resting, outstretched, onto the table.

Harold Saxon leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "What's taking them so bloody long? It's a yes or no answer!"

"What takes them all so long?" barked Davros with a dark laugh. "The threat of blackmail takes a while to think through."

Simeon _tsked_. "Blackmail is such a nasty word. Distasteful. I prefer _persuasion using life or death_."

Davros heaved out a rib shattering cackle, in which his whole chest vibrated with fervour. Harold looked away, towards the door, his nose scrunched up as if he'd just smelt a particularly disgusting smell. "I still think it was too risky. Threatening then bribing three TV broadcasters, I mean. The media can easily turn against us."

"Not with the personal handwritten letter I sent each one of them," Simeon said, his hands linking together. "All we need is the person at the top to accept. It won't go any further than them. One of the many privileges of corporations."

"We all know by now television broadcasters can be bought for the right price. They can certainly cover up the evidence," added Davros. He took three heavy steps to sit down on the chair beside Harold, falling with a loud puff.

"But this isn't a silly game of politics and political agenda we're talking about here," argued Saxon. "This is much more."

"And I told you," Simeon said, raising his voice as his irritation grew. "I told each one the absolute minimum. All they need to know is that we have the resources – and the support – to destroy their life. That's all they will be concerned about in their simple, fragile minds."

Harold sat back in his seat, still a little bit pissed off. This was just, once again, another example of Davros and Simeon ganging up against him to prove a point. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. It might be Simeon who had the most money, and Davros who brought the support, but it was Harold who handled the goods. They tended to forget most of the time that Harold was the chain linked between them. Without him, Simeon would only be a man with too much money and Davros would be a man with a bunch of gun-wielding goons. If Harold left and gave it all in, they wouldn't have a business, as such.

Harold's self-righteous thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing. Simeon glanced to Harold as he slowly answered the phone call, a small smile puckering his lips.

"Yes. Yes. It's been a pleasure doing business with you. Yes, you will be hearing from me shortly. Goodbye."

The phone sank triumphantly into the receiver.

Simeon entwined his fingers as he rested his head on the back of his hands. "One out of three."

* * *

By the end of the week working as John Docherty's personal researcher, Clara felt truly at home.

It was one of those weird feelings where you felt like you'd been there for months, and in reality, it was merely days. Clara's days were full of chatter with different members of staff, including conversations with Rose ranging from deep life questions to what their favourite programme on television was at the moment. Strax was nicer than Clara originally thought – he tended to hide personal feelings and gestures of consideration with an apparent threat. Unusual, but funny all the same. Every morning Martha made Clara a cup of tea, which would soon be followed by a cup of tea and a few biscuits with John in his office before she and Rose went for lunch in different parts of the town. In short, Clara had never had so many cups of tea in her life.

John and Clara had fallen into a regular comfortable pattern. They would discuss topics of the day in his office over a cuppa; completely work related business, theories and plans thought up by Vastra as to how they would approach the upcoming election. At closing time, John would offer Clara a lift home, Rose would raise her eyebrows suggestively, and they would get to know each other as individuals throughout the journey. Each day brought one question from each of them which they would discuss in great detail. By Friday, Clara knew John's favourite colour was the shade of blue of his car, he'd taken a gap year from university to travel the world and his greatest ambition in life was to make a difference, either to someone or something. For John, it was never enough. He wanted to talk to Clara for hours on end. The more he knew, the more he wanted to know. By Friday, it wasn't enough for him to know that her favourite colour was red; she went straight into university without taking a gap year because she loved education and learning, and she also held the ambition in life to make a difference to someone or something.

It wasn't that she was holding back. He was just greedy in his quest to get to know her. To understand her.

There was definitely something about her which confused him.

But on Friday there was a shift in their regular pattern.

Clara was a little slow putting on her coat and packing away her notes and pens when John was waiting – rather excitedly – to give her a lift home. Usually Clara owned a certain busyness, a bounce to her movements, but today she seemed rather resigned.

"Everything okay?"

She glanced up at him, a little confused. "Yeah, yeah. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. You just seem… I don't know."

He backed out of what he was going to say. He didn't want to appear as if he was analysing her every facial feature, her every move. He didn't want to admit that her lips weren't pulled into a subtle smirk today, as they usually were when she stared as his awkward, gangly self.

Clara shrugged, a small twinkle glittering in her eye. "I just – Nina's working late tonight and I hate being home alone. Friday night. Ordering a Chinese and laughing by myself watching the – I don't know, _Graham Norton Show _or something. Not ideal."

It took a rather long moment for two parts of his brain to click together. When they did, he felt a strange butterfly feeling at the bottom of his stomach and his heart irrationally flutter. The room was rather hot as his mind repeated over and over: _do it, just say it, they're just words, just friendly, meaningless words…_

"What a coincidence," he said, laughing, but it sounded nervously forced. "I was going to be spending my Friday night home alone eating a Chinese and watching _Graham Norton_ as well." He stopped, unable to look at her any longer. "We could always, I don't know, go out for a Chinese _together_. Two lonely people… Having a Chinese… Talking about… Stuff."

He was rather fascinated with the sticky notes on the far side of the room, stuck to the window. So fascinated, that he completely missed the absolute beaming grin overtaking Clara's face.

At the same time, they both said:

"Forget it, stupid suggestion –"

"I'd love to –"

He looked back at her, his eyes slightly wide, as she stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. They were both grinning now, rather stupidly, and the Doctor had to shake himself for his body to respond. He leaned forward slightly, quite gallantly, and gestured to the door. "After you!"

John said he knew a rather fancy Chinese restaurant called 'Koi' in the centre of the city. He knew the managers pretty well, so there was no need for them to make a reservation. Clara agreed – she only knew of a few good takeaways – and they set off into the heart of London in the middle of rush hour on Friday evening.

It was around half six when they arrived. It was a rather spacious restaurant, with black shiny mirrored walls decorated with bright orange furnishings. There were only three tables left by the time they got there, one of which was a two seater. John greeted the staff as if they were old friends he hadn't seen in years, pulling each one of them in a large hug and chatting animatedly while he introduced Clara. When they taken to their seats and given a menu each, Clara decided to ask her first question.

"So, how do you know these managers so well?"

John smiled and sat back in his chair, propping the menu back onto the stand. "Funny story. I helped out with a problem – knew one of them from university. Did a favour for both of them and ever since they've given me reservation free evenings. Not like I've had a chance to use one until now. But I drop in for a takeout now and again."

Clara sat forward, placing the menu beside his. "A political problem?"

"A science-y problem," John corrected, sitting up straight once more as the waiter arrived.

Looking towards Clara, the waiter asked, "For the lady?"

"Um, a chicken fried rice, please."

"And for the gentleman?"

"Salted chilli chicken, thank you very much."

Clara shot him an amused grin. "Good choice," she approved. If she wasn't having chicken fried rice or black bean sauce, Clara's favourite was definitely salted chilli chicken. Another thing they seemed to have in common.

"And to drink?"

John looked to Clara. "White or red?"

"Rosé," she answered.

He nodded, clapping his hands together. "Good choice!" If the Doctor wasn't drinking white or red wine, he was definitely drinking rosé.

As the waiter left with a gracious half-bow, Clara narrowed her eyes and stared at John. Around twice a day he always seemed to say something questionable. Something she didn't quite understand as to why he would say it. Then again, some times she also forgot that she was talking to her boss – a highly respected politician – and not trying to get to know a friend better.

That's what it felt like they were quickly turning into. To her, at least. Really good friends.

As that thought occurred to her, she imagined Rose's gloating face and she had to drop her gaze.

"A science-y problem?" Clara questioned, returning to their previous conversation.

"Yeah, I uh" – he shuffled uncomfortably in his chair – "dabble in science, I suppose. I'm not an expert, of course not. But I have a secret passion for physics."

Clara smiled, quite amused. She would never have guessed that about John. For some reason, John having an interest in politics and science didn't fit in her mind. It was like someone having an equal interest in English and maths. The two subjects were opposites.

"Is that what you would do then? Be a scientist if you weren't a politician?"

He shook his head vividly. "No, no! Where's the fun in being a scientist?" His eyes lit up as he said, "I'd be an inventor! I'd invent stuff."

Clara couldn't help but laugh. "An inventor isn't a real job!"

"I know, that's why I'm a politician."

Pausing, Clara considered this as the waiter arrived with the wine. She supposed it was bit like her career adviser at school, telling her she couldn't be a writer because it wasn't a proper job. It was a proper job, a very important proper job, but it was one of those jobs that were so unreliable, you had to create a back up. So, it becomes a hobby and a passion more than a job. Clara could never decide if that was a good or bad thing.

"What about you, Clara? What would you be if you weren't a researcher for the most handsome MP in the whole of the UK?"

Clara raised her eyebrows as she sipped the sweet, tangy translucent pink wine. The Doctor was wearing his _'I want to seem cool and not awkward so I'm just going to look smug'_ face. It made him look adorable and the slightest bit cocky at the same time.

"I'd be a teacher, I think."

John was beaming, his eyes glittering with mischief. "You didn't deny I'm the most handsome MP in the whole of the UK."

"I didn't agree, either." Clara smirked. "And I'd be an English teacher. Not a politics teacher."

He looked her up and down, considering this. "I could imagine you being a teacher. You'd be a strict one. Correcting everyone's grammar and dotting their _I_'s properly."

Clara leaned over the table to lightly slap his hand, acting annoyed. "Oi! Would not! Take that back."

"Well, you'd hardly be the teacher who comes in with a hangover and takes half an hour 'five minutes breaks' for a cigarette behind the canteen." He tilted his head to the side, questioning, "Or would you?"

Clara nudged his hand again as they both fell into carefree laughter. He studied her for a while longer, judging her reaction. English teacher – she must like books then. The Doctor loved to read, he had a massive library at home. Reading ebbed away at his loneliness. She didn't look like she was a secret book nerd at heart. But then again, there was a certain glint in her eye that told the story of her intelligence. He reckoned she was a lot smarter than him, in some ways. As he thought of that, a sudden rush of affection overtook him. Or was it the wine?

"What?" Clara asked with an anxious giggle.

Oh no. He'd stared too long.

"Just imaging what you'd be like at school," he claimed. "I'm picturing perfect student – straight A's, uniform spick and spam, lots of friends. Guys queuing up just to get a look at you."

Clara shrugged. "Not really. A's and B's, quite rebellious. I liked learning, I just didn't like the authority, you know? Got into trouble quite a bit at the beginning. That all changed after my mum died."

John paused to test her tone. She hadn't said it regretfully, more matter-of-factly. So, he decided to tease. "You didn't deny the part about the guys, though."

Her eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Didn't agree, either."

Their food arrived soon after Clara had decided the Doctor would've been the class nerd, running around with books under his arm and prefect badges covering the front of his blazer. John denied everything, of course, even though she was partly correct. They ended up sharing the food out equally, with the friendly managers popping out of the kitchen to give them both a free dessert of chocolate fudge cake. Clara was stuffed when the Doctor asked for the bill, and a little bit tipsy to add to it. She'd had most of the wine since the Doctor insisted he couldn't have more than one glass because he was going to drive them both home. She still protested however, when the Doctor paid for the bill in full and left a generous tip.

"Consider it some sort of favour," he concluded, silencing her arguments. "I've had the pleasure of enjoying your company for the evening instead of being on my own in a large empty apartment. You've enjoyed the food. We're even."

"I've enjoyed the company too," Clara added.

The Doctor shot her a smile. "And I've also enjoyed the food."

As the Doctor drove Clara home, he put on the radio for some background music. Every station was playing popular dance songs because of the time of night, (where had the hours gone?) and Clara turned up the volume. When a song they both recognised came on, they sang it together, windows rolled down and shouting at the top of their lungs. Now and again Clara found herself giggling at the Doctor's awful singing. Then she realised she wasn't brilliant either.

When he parked outside her block of apartments, Clara found that she wasn't ready for the night to end. John was lingering too, as if he was struggling with the concept of going home to an empty flat without any company. Clara reckoned she wouldn't have made the offer if it hadn't been for that bottle of wine.

"Graham Norton is coming on," she said, hesitantly. "If you want we could fulfil the other half of our night. Watch it together, if you'd like. In my living room. I have a bottle of wine."

Clara doubted it was wise for her to drink any more of the stuff, but she thought it was a nice gesture.

"Sure," the Doctor said enthusiastically, despite trying to seem laid back. "Nothing wrong with that, is there? Not when we were both going to watch it anyway."

They concluded that yes, it was a very good idea and yes, more wine did sound good.

Half an hour later, Clara had changed into a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, while John had taken off his bowtie and blazer, with the first few buttons of his shirt undone and his shoes abandoned at the doorway. They were sitting on the floor of Clara's living room, in front of the television, laughing and drinking wine heartily, chatting about the guests on this week's show. Clara hadn't laughed this much in ages, and she could tell by the way John wiped the laughter tears from his eyes that he hadn't either.

When it was over, and the bottle of wine was empty, Clara's head was woozy and the room seemed to be dancing around her. John was still trying to stop his laughing, while pressing both of his palms to his head in an attempt to sober up, Clara reckoned.

"I think I've had too much to drink," John admitted, staring at the bottle like it had personally offended him. "I can feel the earth spinning."

Clara sighed and reached out to the sofa so that it would balance her movements. "Come on. You can't drive home in that state." Once she was firmly (or as firmly as she could) standing up, she offered John a hand to help him get up. He frowned as he looked up at her, his eyes squinting.

"What?"

"You can sleep on the sofa. I'll get you some blankets and a few pillows."

"Are you sure? What will Nina say?"

"Nina's not here and she won't mind anyway. I don't know how many times I've woken up in the morning and I've accidentally bumped into a random guy in the kitchen."

They both fell into giggles again when Clara made to move and nearly toppled to the side. John reached out to catch her but missed completely and stumbled himself. They held onto each other as Clara made her way to her bedroom, pulling out free blankets and extra pillows while John waited outside. John silently worked on turning the sofa into a comfortable bed as Clara watched and tried to help. When he was satisfied with his work, he fell down onto the blankets and gave a massive yawn.

"Everything okay?"

"Perfect!"

"Great. That's good. Night then, John."

"Night Clara."

He listened as she softly padded to her bedroom, a sudden, striking urge overtaking any senses he had left.

"Clara?" he called.

"Yes?" she said back.

"Thank you."

He heard her laugh. "It's only a few blankets and a pillow, John."

"No, not that. Although the sofa is lovely and comfortable." He paused, realising he had to continue. There was no backing out now. "Thank you for tonight. I haven't had this much fun in ages. I think it's what I needed."

In the shadowy threshold to Clara's bedroom, she gave a soft smile, her chest filling with a warm glow at John's words. "No problem. I think it's what I needed too."

Clara, still smiling, shut her bedroom door with a quiet _click_. She crawled into bed and under her warm covers, snuggling up to the pillow, her heart truly happy for what felt like the first time in months.


	6. Company

** A/N: A quick update a day early because of all your support! Thanks a lot guys, you're all the best! I would mention every one of you again but I don't really have the time right now, so next chapter - definitely next chapter. **

** Chapter Six: Company**

It was around half eight in the morning when Nina fumbled with her keys to the apartment, her heavy bag slung over her arm. She sighed in relief as she walked past the shoes abandoned in the hallway without even noticing, just relieved to be home. As she made her way to the kitchen through the living room, she didn't see the sleeping half-naked figure, and instead, Nina noticed how the kitchen was perfectly tidy, as if Clara hadn't touched anything the entire time Nina had been at work. Frowning, Nina felt worry fill the pit of her stomach – Clara not eating wasn't a good sign. Was she stressed again? Worried about something? There definitely weren't any plates left in the sink or food packets in the bin.

Nina paused. Her mind was trying to catch up with her, as if she'd missed an important smudge of information on the front of her mind. She backtracked; walked very slowly into the living room and had to cover her mouth with her palm to stop herself from shrieking.

There was a half naked man lying on her sofa, his clothes abandoned on the floor and an empty bottle of wine turned on its side next to the television.

Nina's mind worked very quickly.

She rushed into Clara's bedroom, not bothering to knock. Clara was sleeping on her stomach, her head tilted to the side, her bed covers askew. Ignoring any common sense or courtesy, Nina jumped on Clara's bed and shook her best friend's shoulders. Clara jumped awake with a start, immediately trying to push herself off the bed.

"What's swrong?" she slurred, still half asleep. "What issit, Nina?"

Nina cackled in delight. "Hah! Look at you! You little minx!"

Clara was rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up. "Come again?"

"Half naked man on the sofa, you've slept in when you never sleep in, I can practically smell the alcohol coming from the both of you –"

Dropping her hands from her eyes, Clara gaped. "Half naked –?" She winched at the implications. "Oh _god_ –"

"I recognise him too; he's your boss! You slept with your boss, after all those times you said to me –"

"No, no, no!" Clara grabbed Nina's hands to stop her from going any further. "It's not what you think. We haven't – I wouldn't – we just went out for a friendly meal, came back here to watch something – although now I can't remember what – and he was too drunk to drive home so I said he could stay here!"

Nina smirked and raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Sure." She paused, leaning in to inspect her friend's bloodshot eyes. "Wait. Are you hungover?"

Automatically, Clara's hand went to her slightly throbbing forehead. "What? No. I never get hungover."

But Nina cackled with pure joy again. "This is perfect! Little perfect Clara never sleeps in. Oh look, she has. Little perfect Clara never brings home strange men. Oh look, she has. Little perfect Clara can drink all she likes and never get hungover. Oh look –" Nina said it particularly loud so Clara would grip her head tighter, cringing in pain – "she has!"

"It's not nice to gloat," Clara said, slipping off her bed and stretching. Her headache was starting to beat out a samba and she could distinctly taste stale wine in her mouth from the night before. It made her stomach turn.

"Oh but it is," Nina retorted in her smuggest tone. "After all these years being a bad influence, I have finally converted you to my ways. Glorious."

Rolling her eyes, Clara stomped into the living room. "John! John!" she shouted as she approached, wanting to prove a point to Nina. She immediately wished she hadn't.

John, clearly startled, rolled off the sofa and fell onto the floor with a loud 'ow!' The covers fell away from his body as he jumped to his feet. Clara stopped in her tracks as her eyes fell on his body. She tried not to notice that he was in nothing but his boxers and socks. She tried not to notice how he was actually quite muscular underneath all that tweed. She especially tried really hard not to notice that the biceps on his arms flexed as he became aware of his own nakedness and snatched a blanket from the ground to cover himself.

And with that, Clara realised she was wearing nothing but a thin (she desperately hoped not see-through) vest and small shorts. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

"Okay, you definitely didn't sleep with him," Nina whispered in her ear, noticing the awkward tension hanging in the room.

"Oh, um." John pointed to Nina with one hand as he brushed away the tousled hair from his eyes with the other. "You must be Nina. Hello. Not really how I pictured introducing myself."

Nina folded her arms and raised one sleek eyebrow. "No, I imagine not."

"This is John," Clara told Nina, as if for the first time and as if she hadn't been talking about him for the last week. "My friend from work."

Standing with his blanket wrapped around like a toga, John gave a small grin, his eyes widening slightly. "Friend," he approved. "I like that. Friend."

If Nina hadn't been there, Clara would've said something. But Nina was giving her _that_ look, and Clara hated it when Nina gave her _that_ look.

"Well, can I make the both of you a hangover-curing breakfast?" Nina suggested, clapping her hands together. "How about a nice greasy full English?"

The look of absolute horror on Clara's face was priceless. Nina couldn't help but laugh. "Come on, John. Stay for breakfast." When John made to move, Nina gestured to his makeshift robe, a certain glint in her eye. "And you can get rid of that and all. It's not like you have anything underneath that I haven't already seen plenty of times before."

Cringing, Clara escaped back to her bedroom to find a dressing gown while John stuttered to make a response. Luckily enough she had two – one black with pink hearts and the other coral pink. Clara chose the pink one and brought out the black for John. He accepted it with a quick word of thanks, and swapped it for the blanket. Clara burst into silent giggles when the dressing gown barely reached his thigh, and he started laughing too.

This was turning into one strange morning.

Nina was opening and closing kitchen cupboards at her own ease. "We have cereal – mostly chocolate cereal, so perhaps not. Toast, with jam or marmalade or lemon curd or honey. Waffles with whatever you'd like. In the fridge we have –"

"Nina makes a pretty good omelette," Clara suggested to the Doctor.

John nodded, pointing to his bare chest. "_I_ make a pretty good omelette, I'll have you know."

"Yeah but that's not how it works. _You're_ the guest here," Nina argued, removing the eggs from the open fridge.

John got to his feet and gave a little stretch. Clara redirected her gaze, discretely. When she looked back, Nina was staring at her, gloating.

"As a guest, I should really repay you both for your hospitality, shouldn't I? For example, by cooking you both breakfast."

Neither Nina nor Clara could argue with that. Nina took John's stool at the breakfast bar as he ruffled through their kitchen cupboards and extracted various objects from their drawers. Clara could feel Nina's eyes boring into her and she found she couldn't avoid her best friend's gaze for much longer. It was just as well John couldn't hear over the racket of clanging saucepans and frying pans, because Nina whispered, rather obviously, to Clara.

"You fancy him."

Clara immediately blushed. "I do not fancy him, Nina!"

Nina leaned back onto the countertop, her eyes challenging Clara to deny it once more. The room felt uncomfortably hot as Clara struggled to reposition her face and stop her cheeks from blushing, but it was useless in front of her best friend. They'd known each other too long, too well.

Despite Nina and Rose saying the apparent obvious, that she fancied the currently half naked man cooking her breakfast in her kitchen, Clara really didn't think she did. She found him amusing, sweet, really good company, but fancied him? No, she couldn't. She wouldn't.

Anyway, it takes two to tango. John seemed lonely, in need of a friend. That's all Clara was to him, and that was enough. They'd only known each other for a week and he was already pleased she had called him a friend.

Once her mind was made up, Clara started to focus on what John was actually doing in their – now rather messy – kitchen. He had mayonnaise, cheese, ham, spring onions and a few other bottles in his hands that she couldn't quite make out from this angle. She frowned in distaste at the thought of all that mixed together in an omelette. She and Nina shared a mutual glance, wondering just how much John was exaggerating when he said he could cook a pretty good omelette.

"So, what are you doing this fine Saturday, John?" Nina asked over the spitting oil in the pan.

"Oh, nothing much. I'll just go back to my apartment. Sort through some documents I've left lying around. Maybe go for a walk if I'm feeling terribly reckless."

Nina was frowning now. "Do you not have any plans? With friends or family?"

With his back to them, Clara could see his shoulders tense. "Amy and Rory – my two best friends – are married and pretty much settled. I don't want to disrupt their lives too often. We're not teenagers anymore." He waited a beat. "And I don't have much family. Just my granddad and my cousin, David. Who is also married and settled down. So… No. Not much to do."

Clara felt a pang of sympathy for him. Nina pressed on, this time staring pointedly at Clara, "And you don't have any significant other?"

Nina continued to smile even thought Clara gently kicked her in the shins.

"No, no. Not for a while now. Haven't really had the time." _Or met anyone particularly special_, the Doctor thought to himself.

The omelettes were ready. John served them each a plate with a garnish for the side. Clara stared at it apprehensively, unsure of how to break it to him that the omelette he made was going to be disgusting. But John was already digging into it, sitting on the other side of Clara, nodding in appreciation at his own cooking.

Clara reluctantly took a small bite, savouring the taste.

"Oh my god, John, this is amazing!" she appraised, taking another forkful. "Unconventional, but amazing."

John smiled. "A bit like myself then."

"What do you say we all go to the cinema later?" Nina suggested, in a light, carefree tone. "John can go home and we can all meet up later. What do you say?"

Dropping his fork, John's eyes widened as he watched Nina before moving his attention to Clara. He hesitated, his mouth open but unable to form words and put them in a sentence. Wasn't this what Vastra and Jenny had wanted for him? To broaden his friendship? He felt reluctant, anxious for reasons he didn't know why. For so long now John had fallen into the habit of enjoying his own company while also consumed in his own loneliness. Amy, his longest friend, had finally settled on a career after years of switching paths. Rory was a fully qualified, and admired, nurse in the Royal hospital. Together they were busy with their own jobs and building a life together – his last visit had consisted of them telling him they were talking about having children. It was selfish if he expected them to drop everything in their lives just to spend time with him, to go out for a few drinks, go to theatre and have movie nights in like they used to. It wasn't their problem that they had settled down and he hadn't. As for David, he was quite happy with Rose in his life, and especially of late, had no time for anyone but her. John suspected there was something more to that, but he didn't want to press the issue. Vastra and Jenny were good friends of his, and very supportive, but once again, they were paired off together. John was the odd one out and he'd had enough of being the third wheel.

Then here was Clara – kind, caring, considerate Clara – who had barely known him and a week and seemed to love his company already. He certainly loved spending time with her, that much was certain after they'd first met. Nina, too; he could see how close Nina and Clara were, and it was very considerate of them to take him into consideration. John felt truly touched by the offer.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'd like that."

* * *

They arranged to meet up at half seven that night, with the Doctor giving Clara and Nina a lift to the Odeon. He observed the conversation in the car without really contributing to it. It was curious to see how Clara interacted with Nina, a long time friend, and he found that he learnt more from her by simply watching. She and Nina were opposites in a way, and very similar in others. As they talked, John figured out that Clara was the more rational, logical thinker while Nina was more to the point. This amused him for some reason; probably because it once again showed that Clara took the caring role, as well as the challenging one. He thought he was finally sussing her out.

All three of them chose the comedy film out of the choices on offer. As they took their seats in the busy cinema, John disappeared for a while. Just when Clara was starting to worry, he came back with three large popcorns and a packet of Cadbury buttons for them to share. When Clara objected and insisted they pay him back (to which Nina gave Clara her best _shut up right now_ stare) John argued that he bought them as a small token of thanks, and paying him back made no sense whatsoever.

As Clara nibbled on her popcorn, she wondered if John would always feel like he had to repay her for her company. The thought made her frown.

The movie was average, containing your typical jokes on topics which have already been covered in plenty of movies before, but John found himself laughing, all the same. He also subconsciously noticed that his eyes kept wandering back to Clara throughout the film, purposefully looking out to see her reaction to things. He didn't know why and he certainly didn't understand it, however, he did his best to make sure Nina wouldn't notice.

All in all, it had been an exciting weekend for John. Considering his recent routine of staying in on his own, that was. Sundays were always his lazy days but now he found that he wanted to spend more time with Nina and Clara, and the thought of spending a whole day on his own now seemed strangely dissatisfying.

Oh dear. Was he actually starting to rely on someone again?

John hugged Nina and Clara individually once they'd left the cinema and were walking back to the car park. Nina was talking animatedly about the movie, Clara listening dutifully and John sort of listening, sort of thinking ahead. He let the girls choose the songs to play on his stereo, lost in his own thoughts a little. He couldn't help but compare how he felt when he had company to how he felt when he was alone. He felt complete, full, _happy_ when he was with Clara. It was a stark contrast to how he felt this time exactly a week ago; unknowingly discontented, restless, mildly irritated with something without knowing what.

Clara was watching as John kept his focus on the road while listening to Nina senselessly babble. He was being quiet – too quiet – since they'd left the cinema. Maybe he was realising he was breaking he boundary between boss and employee. Maybe he was regretting all the time he'd spend with her. The thought made Clara's bottom lip feel heavy, as if she was unable to smile.

Just for something to say, because he wanted to talk about anything while they still had some time left, the Doctor said lightly, "We have a busy day on Monday, Clara. A cabinet meeting. Confidential, very important. Don't worry; I'll guide you through it. Vastra's taking it anyway so you should be fine."

_Right_, Clara told herself, _he's reaffirming the fact that they're co-workers._ _He thinks we've crossed a line_.

"Sounds interesting," she said half-heartedly.

John frowned. That didn't sound like usual, perky Clara. Had he said something?

"Tuesday is Question Time, as well," John added as an afterthought. "An opportunity for Skaro to attack us, personally. I'd feel better if you'd be there. You know, for a second opinion."

Clara smiled in spite of herself. "I'll be there."

John's beaming face was almost dazzling.

* * *

In his constituency's office, Walter Simeon sat alone in his dark and shady room. The blind was only open halfway, letting beams of orange streetlight filter onto his carpet. The world travelled past his window without disrupting Simeon's thoughts. This was a regular routine for him on a night like this – sorting through documents, rereading contracts, revising plans for his new opportune businesses. He used that term lightly.

There was one envelope from the pile that had caught his attention. He thumbed the letter, which was not addressed to him, with a slow, building, curiosity. For some reason, this letter confused him in a way it shouldn't. He'd been intercepting certain post for a few months now, and none of it was particularly interesting.

But this letter, addressed to _Miss Clara Oswald_, had something written between the lines. What had Vastra meant when she had typed:

_The role is a position for MP John Docherty's personal researcher. _

Why did John need a personal researcher? What did that even mean? Unless he had told them –

No. Simeon wiped that thought from his mind. He would just have to observe the exact nature of their working relationship from afar. After all, it could be harmless. Not everything was a conspiracy; he often had to remind himself of that sometimes.

So, Simeon disregarded the letter and placed it back where he found it, his mind still lingering on the word 'personal' and whether it implied intimacy or secrecy. Simeon couldn't really tell the difference anymore.

* * *

Note: The last section there is in reference to (in case some of you forgot) the first chapter, where Vastra mentions a letter she sent Clara, and is confused as to why she never received it. As for anything else you didn't understand in that last section, don't worry – it'll all come together shortly, and you shouldn't understand it yet. (Unless you've been reading my thoughts) Hope you enjoyed and reviews are welcome!


	7. Future Plans

** A/N: So sorry about this being a day or two behind compared to my usual update rate! I have an assignment coming up for uni, which I have to do this week, so that might mean either the chapter through the week will be slightly shorter than usual, or the update at the weekend will be the short one. But I will definitely update twice. This chapter is a bit of a mixture of everything because this is really the slow start of the actual plot. When the plot starts the pace is going to pick up to a level I'm comfortable writing at. Slow paces unnerve me a little bit. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviews: Azkabella, Guest, ImpossibleClara9, XxSnowyDreamsxX, remembermecleverboy, Guest, Dede42, OhMyStarsShiz, Whoufflemysouffle, Guest, BloodLily16, Yugicanbesexy, UchihaHakura64, ThePotterDoctor and Guest. You're all fantastic!**

** Chapter Seven: Future Plans**

Clara was excited as she entered the office on Monday morning. For the meetings and political agenda, she was sure of it. In no way was it because John was waiting at her desk, holding a very friendly cup of tea and wearing a huge, bright smile at her arrival. As soon as she had entered the foyer this morning and had stopped to spare a few words with the bubbly Donna, she realised the extent of chaos being created by the election campaign. Everything was now officially in full swing; there was an unanimous chatter collecting in the centre of the Gallifrey offices and collective shouting of commands. Donna was in the centre of it all, and it was clear to Clara that she didn't have the patience for it.

"The Doctor wants you to –" Donna had tried to say, but the phone started ringing out angrily from her desk again. "Oh for god's sake! Where's the bloody mute button for that bloody phone?!"

As Donna attacked the red handset, Clara had to stifle a laugh. A man, slightly plump around the middle with a mischievous, boyish face interrupted their already interrupted conversation, slapping a rather large pile of pages on Donna's desk.

"Photocopy these for me will you, Donna?" he said before turning on his heel.

Donna practically hissed at him. "What am I, Gustus? I'm a secretary, a bloody secretary, not your slave from human resources! They pay me for answering phone calls and telling people memos, not for photocopying your stupid leaflets!"

But Gustus was on the move and his walking steadily turned into a run as Donna continued to yell at him to take back the pile of paper. Now she was grabbing random sheets, scrunching them up into little paper balls and throwing them at the escaping Gustus, while all the while, yelling, "I'm going to kill you, Gustus! You still owe me that bloody fiver!"

Clara had silently slipped away, turning around briefly just before she entered Research to see Donna hadn't even noticed her gone, and was instead, shouting at someone from an above floor, just as passionately as she had with Gustus.

"Bit crazy today," John said, handing her the cup.

"Little bit!"

"It's going to be like this for the next few months, I'm afraid. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Clara fell into step with John as they made to leave the office. "I'm finding it all very… exciting."

"Sure you don't mean stressful? Busy? Scrutinising?"

"I've only experienced politics from the point of view of a textbook and a passionate university student with a clear focus on principles," Clara told him. "Being in amongst it now, campaigning instead of voting is really exciting to me."

John raised an eyebrow as he held the door open for her, as if she had said something completely ridiculous. He remembered back to his first campaign when he was a nobody, fresh out of university and a junior minister after a year of experience. He hated every second of it; the competition, the underhand tactics used by oppositions. It was all too melodramatic for him, all too over the top.

And now he was in the centre of the public eye. Deputy for Gallifrey.

The Cabinet meeting room was very fancy. Curtains draped over the windows, crimson red and detailed with golden thread. Large items of furniture, polished mahogany, so perfectly polished that Clara could see her reflection in the wood. The chairs had high backs and velvet cushions, the pens personalised with fruitless fluidity. The tea was flowing from the dispensers, with caterers waiting at the side to showcase the biscuits on display for their tea break later; cupcakes with crystallised leaves and biscuits imprinted with their party slogan and symbol. John caught Clara staring at the selection of tray bakes and chuckled.

"You must try the jam-filled sandwich biscuits later. They're absolutely exquisite," he whispered in a mock posh accent. Returning to his normal tone, he added, "Just an unnecessarily posh description of a jammie dodger, really."

Vastra took her position at the head of the table, John on her other side and close to him, Clara. Rose was directly opposite her with Martha, Jenny was accompanied by Strax and Jack, and the other figures around the table Clara faintly recognised but didn't know their names.

"Thank you all for being here," Vastra began, her arms crossed on the table. "As you know, this is a Cabinet meeting intent on discussing the political direction of the upcoming election. If we succeed in the election, everyone here will have a position on the Cabinet." There was a beat in which everyone nodded. "Now, does anyone have anything they would like to suggest?"

As with any group meeting, there was a group pause, where each person waited for someone to start talking. It was Jenny who broke the moment of silence.

"Skaro," she started. "I heard they're directing their campaign towards businesses and investment."

John shuffled in his seat. "Oh? That's a new direction for them."

Jack sat forward, using his hands to illustrate his point. "Listen guys, we're all friends here. Well, everyone apart from Rose." Jack shot Rose his best grin, to which Rose responded by throwing her pen at his head. He continued, "Let's all be honest with each other. After the fiasco of the last coalition, there is no way in hell that Skaro are going to win this election. We have this in the bag. We're stronger than they are, we're all best friends, our team has the best reputation it has ever had. People admire Vastra, people adore the Doctor. Who's really going to vote for stuck up Simeon and his brat, Saxon?"

"But that's precisely it, Jack," Vastra said, patiently, kindly. Clara wondered if the woman ever shouted or lost her temper. She was always understanding and collected. Perfectly paced. "We can't get too comfortable. Yes, we have the upper hand from the electorate. But Skaro will do everything in their power to pull us down. We're fighting against them more than we are fighting for the votes. They know that we will be everyone's first choice because of the strong leadership and media representation."

Strax frowned, his small hand slapping against the polished wood. "Are you suggesting that Skaro are going to ruin our reputation, Ma'am?"

"They've always been known for their underhand tactics. It wouldn't surprise me." She paused, taking the time to stare at everyone individually. "This is why we cannot give them the opportunity. We have to put ourselves above their tactics. Every word we say to the media will have to be scrutinised before delivery. One sentence wrong and Skaro will blow it out of proportion, twist the meaning and try to turn people against us."

Directly across from Gallifrey, on the opposite end of government buildings, Skaro were also having their election proceedings meeting. It was a smaller meeting that that of Gallifrey's, with only the people present who absolutely had to be there. That meant Simeon, Saxon, Davros and Kovarian all around the table, in their room decorated green and blue, all of them listening to Simeon intently.

"As a party, we already have close connections to businesses all over the UK. As a business, ourselves, we have mutual understandings with the top chairmen and women who are the representatives for these corporations."

Kovarian narrowed her eyes. "By mutual understanding, you mean…?"

"Blackmail," Simeon said simply.

Kovarian sighed. "Blackmail will only get us so far, Walter."

Davros barked out a laugh. "You'd be surprised how a few guns pointed towards someone's chest can change their opinion. Quickly."

"Change their opinion while you're still in the room, yes, but what's stopping them from going back on their word once the weapons are removed? Hm?"

"Absolutely nothing. Apart from the few extra measures I've had put in place." Simeon curled his hands in his lap and leaned his elbows on the desk. "No one has betrayed us thus far. Have faith in me, Kovarian."

"Besides," the woman continued, intent on challenging him further. "All of this only matters if we win the election. _How_ are we going to win the election, Walter? I thought we agreed Davros would be Deputy? If you keep manipulating our decisions to suit yourself we aren't going to get very far. No offence to you, Harold, but such a young, inexperienced member of our party getting a position as –"

"It was a wiser move than you give credit for. We have alerted people to Harold. We've sparked their interest. Soon people will be asking _why_ such a young minister achieved such a high position."

"Meanwhile, we can sit here all day and bicker. We're not really getting anywhere," said Harold, crossing his arms across his chest. "How do you suppose we take down Gallifrey?"

Simeon sniggered. "It's all about reputation."

* * *

After another hour of agreements and tasks put across to the cabinet, the committee meeting was dismissed. Clara had to admit that it wasn't as exciting or entertaining that she imagined it to be. Whether that was down to unusually high expectations for such a dull matter or once Vastra had predicted Skaro's grand plan, everyone was a little more subdued than usual, Clara couldn't be certain. All she was definite of, she found, was that there was something bothering John for the rest of the day. He was smiling and joking and being his usual charming self, but there was something behind his eyes, as if he was secretly worrying.

That was when Clara first thought she could see through John. His eyes made everything transparent, as if they really were the windows to his soul.

Clara resolved to ask him what was wrong when he offered her a lift home that night from work.

However, the Doctor had a question of his own.

"So, Clara," he started, his eyes glittering with curiosity in that way she was used to now. "Can you drive or do you just prefer public transport?"

Clara found herself smiling. "Oh, um… I can't drive. I'm a terrible driver. I'd be a danger to _everybody_."

"Nonsense. You just haven't had a good instructor, that's all."

She considered this for a moment. "I haven't even attempted it, John. I just know I'd be terrible."

His eyes widened at that. "Well, how about I teach you then?"

"You… teach me?" Clara repeated slowly.

But now John was a bundle of energy at the prospect of teaching Clara how to drive. He was rambling, trying to convince her. "Yeah, think about it! I'm a really good driver, if I say so myself. I have an amazing car. Of course, you wouldn't need to pay for a single thing, and even if you wanted to, in no way would I accept. It would be fun – me and you, driving. Or, you could at least give it a go. I reckon I would be a good teacher. What do you say?"

Clara was weighing up her options. Deny John of his generous offer and watch his face crumple slightly with disappointment, or endanger everyone on the road in her attempt to drive, cause a risk to life and curl up in embarrassment when she _showed_ John how terrible she was. She didn't know which the better option was.

Sighing, she said, "Okay – but _one_ lesson. I mean it John. And don't blame me when I kill us both."

He smiled in his small victory, and Clara smiled too. He was so easy to please sometimes; it was really nice for Clara to see. The more she made him happy, the more she wanted to do it.

After that, every worry from the day was forgotten in an instant.

Once John had dropped Clara home, he was reminded by a text from Amy that he was still having dinner at their house later that evening. He'd almost forgotten about it altogether – between worrying about Vastra's words earlier that day, the Question Time tomorrow and being distracted by Clara for most of the space in between, somehow his arrangement with Amy and Rory was nearly wiped from his mind. To be fair to him, it wasn't like he saw much of his two best friends anymore. Once a month, if he was lucky.

By the time he got home, he didn't have much time. He changed out of his tweed blazer and bowtie into a loose open shirt and black jeans, picked up a bottle of champagne from his fridge (after smiling for a moment or two, remembering his weekend with Clara) and jumped back into the TARDIS – his car – to make it there on time.

In the end, he was around fifteen minutes late, but Amy and Rory didn't mind. As soon as he stepped through the dark blue door of their house, he engulfed them both in a group hug. For a moment or two the conversation held that awkward stiffness, only found between friends who hadn't seen each other in a while, and didn't really know how and where to begin. But as the conversations started, it was hard for any of them to stop. Amy was telling him of her new career in modelling. This was no surprise to the Doctor – Amy had a new career every time he saw her these days. Rory still loved his job as a nurse for the Royal hospital, and was looking forward to the prospect of being promoted. The Doctor shared his news too, on his own promotion, even though Amy and Rory had already heard all about it on the news.

It was during dessert that the Doctor found himself hot under the collar.

"Clara," Amy said unexpectedly. The name sounded weird for Amy to say – as if it were two things the Doctor never expected to hear overlapped. Two different eras of his life. "Who's Clara?"

"Cl-Clara? What about Clara?" he asked innocently, a steady blush rising on his cheeks.

"Well, you haven't shut up about her since you got here, for a start," Amy said.

The Doctor struggled with this. He took an extra big spoonful of the lemon meringue for something to do. But they were watching him, intently now, and he was aware of that look.

Amy's eyebrows pulled together. "Are you seeing her? This Clara?"

"No!" he said too quickly with a small jump. "She's my new personal researcher. That's all."

Rory nodded, knowingly. "_Personal_ researcher."

"Vastra hired her," the Doctor added, forcefully.

But Amy was still staring at him with a piercing glare, calculating his every move and reaction. Judging it, adding it up. Very slowly, she asked, in a tone just slightly too high to be casual, "Doctor, do you like her?"

"Of course I _like_ her, she's very –"

"_Like_ like her, I mean."

"Well, I um – I mean –"

"Oh my god," Rory said, astonished. "You _do_!"

Well and truly feeling the pressure now, the Doctor snapped, "Just because she's the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and she makes me laugh and – and _forget_ everything for a while, every time I talk to her, does not mean I fancy her. No, it doesn't." But his mind was drifting into ungoverned territory and his face was burning and the words had slipped out without them meaning to, and he felt the need to add an extra, "No," onto the end of that particular sentence, more in the need to tell himself than to convince his two best friends.

They went back to studying their pudding, none of them actually eating, each one of them feeling rather immature. There was a long stretched out pause, in which the Doctor thought Rory was rather amused and Amy – well, Amy was bristling a little bit.

"I was talking to River the other day."

Her words were like cold bullets flying through the air. Intent to cause impact, but the Doctor felt none of it. His face was still feeling too warm after their conversation about Clara.

"Oh?" he commented flatly.

"She misses you."

Rory clamped his hand to his cheek, avoiding direct confrontation with either of them.

The Doctor felt strangely numb. Not fussed at all. "Really?" he said.

Amy dropped her fork. "That's all you can say? _Really_?"

He met her gaze now and registered quite quickly the hurt and anger in her gaze.

"What do you want me to say?!"

"That you miss her too!"

"What, a lie?"

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Hasn't stopped you lying before."

"Enough, enough, enough!" shouted Rory, raising his hands in the air. He could see this was turning into an argument, and he couldn't let it happen. "None of us want to argue so… let's not, okay? Let's just enjoy tonight without worrying about anything. Okay?"

He was met only by silence.

So, Rory nodded to himself. "Okay."

But the atmosphere was already ruined. They ate the rest of their dessert in silence, and as soon as all three of them were finished, the Doctor got up to go. He thanked them, genuinely, for the meal and for the evening, despite the tension still obviously hanging in the air. They arranged their next meeting for two weeks from now, on Rory's strict instructions. The Doctor insisted it take place at his house instead.

Then he left.

Rory let out a long and low exasperated sigh as they watched the Doctor drive away from their living room window. With his head hanging, he complained, "_Why_ did you have to bring that up tonight, Amy? You _knew_ the reaction it would cause."

"I couldn't help it, Rory. When he started mentioning _Clara_ –"

"What about what we were supposed to tell him? What tonight was all about?" he said, eyes rounded with concern. "The plan was to tell him about us moving to New York. When he finds out we've been keeping this from him, he's going to be destroyed."

There were stressed tears in Amy's eyes. "I know, I just thought… if he was with River again, he wouldn't be as lonely. You know?"

Rory opened up his arms and pulled his wife closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes tightly, suddenly rather ashamed of her angry outburst at him. She didn't mean to sound so cold; she was just worried for him. Worried about him. She didn't want him becoming resigned with loneliness just because they were moving away.

"Next time," Rory promised, himself _and_ Amy. "We'll definitely tell him next time."

* * *

_**Dun dun dun, cue dramatic music:**_** Next time we will have a motorbike, awkward media questions and Clara crashing a car. Reviews would be amazing, guys! **


	8. Tactful Thinking

** A/N: So, here's the thing. I know absolutely nothing about driving, cars, motorbikes, anything like that. Anything that moves and isn't living, in other words. So please don't judge me for my terrible descriptions. I really have no idea what I'm talking about! Once again, I have taken my own twist on British Politics, so don't question it too much… What I have planned to happen in this story would never happen in real life politics, so certain traditions have to be played with. I hit a bit of a block with this chapter, but the next one will definitely make up for it! Big thanks to everyone for supporting this story.**

** Chapter Eight: Tactful Thinking**

The Doctor wasn't quite sure why he did it.

Maybe it was because of what Amy had said the night previously. Why did it bother her so much about him talking about Clara? Was it her loyalty to River? Why bring up River at all? It had been years, too long for the Doctor to still keep caring. She was an echo in the back of his mind; something which factually happened, decorated with some stale memories, but other than that, the feeling and animation had gone. For the first time in ages he was happy with the now.

But there was something more to their extravagant and rather formal dinners. It hadn't escaped his attention. What happened to their lazy nights in, drinking wine, ordering a pizza with all the toppings from Pizza Hut, and watching a crap film just to laugh at it?

The Doctor had originally thought it was because Amy and Rory were growing up. But not anymore. It was almost as if they were weaning him off them.

Yet, none of that _really_ explained why he showed up at nine o'clock outside Clara's apartment block riding a motorbike and clutching an extra helmet.

Some things were better left unexplained.

Clara's face was priceless when she walked out to see him waiting there. It washed away any hesitations he still had about doing it in the first place. He didn't know what she was most shocked about: the fact that he was there at all, or the fact that he was on a motorbike.

"Would the lady like a trip?" he said when she approached.

"Oh my god!" Clara gasped. "You have a motorbike!"

It was black and chrome and so shiny that Clara could see her reflection in it.

"Yes, I have a motorbike," said the Doctor, patting the black leather of the seat. "Have I mentioned I like collecting different vehicles?"

"Have I mentioned my boyfriend when I was a teenager used to ride a scooter and my father banned him from using it around me?" Clara asked, accepting the helmet. "I've always wanted to have a go."

The Doctor scoffed. "_Scooter-mooter._ This is not a scooter, Clara Oswald. This is a highly esteemed Harley-Davidson. This points and laughs at scooters. Points and laughs and overtakes with just a dash of extra finesse."

Clara was climbing onto the seat behind him now, making sure she was sitting in the correct position. "Am I doing it right? Is this right?"

She wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him quite tightly. He smiled. "This is perfect. Ready? Secure?"

"Yes," she answered quickly. A pause. Then, "Wait, wait, wait. Are you showing off?"

He couldn't see her face, and he was thankful she couldn't see him, but by the tone of her voice he could imagine the look she was giving him. He smirked in that cheeky way of his, when he thought he was being rather impressive. "Showing up at your apartment to give you a lift on my motorbike? Definitely not. You haven't seen me drive it yet."

He kicked the bike into action. _That_ was when he showed off.

The Doctor was quite skilled when it came to driving things; he knew enough about cars and motorbikes to zoom through the traffic and speed around corners without putting Clara's life in danger. Every time he heard a soft _woop_ come from directly behind him, it spurred on his confidence. He knew when to slow down and when he was going too fast, because Clara would gently squeeze him tighter around the waist.

In the end, they both ended up being rather late to work after the Doctor decided to take a few detours. But since the Doctor was practically his own boss, not to mention Clara's, he kindly excused it.

This morning was very important for Gallifrey. It was the first Question Time in the House since the campaigning started. Clara knew a lot about Question Time, she even used to watch them on the BBC Parliament channel. Once a week the assembly would join and ask the Prime Minister questions, to which he would have to honestly respond. A debate usually ensued. Now, however, because the House was dissolved for elections, Question Time meant each side trying to outdo the other one, asking the difficult questions, the ones intent on bringing down the opposition. John didn't seem bothered – that was until he and Clara were halfway to the chamber, and Clara was preparing to make her way up to the viewing box. His eyes were shinning with a certain vulnerability, and Clara remembered what Vastra had said the day previously; Skaro's tactics weren't going to be politically fuelled. Clara was nervous for him. This was the time he would have to think on the spot without any written speech to help him.

"Good luck," she told him, hovering just outside the open assembly doors.

"Yeah." He rested his hand on her shoulder, softly, as if he was soaking in some comfort from their contact. "You'll sit somewhere I can see you, won't you?"

Clara wasn't really sure when she had transformed into a token of serenity for him in the last week and a half. It was like – before she came along – John was crying out for someone to support him. Just anyone. Someone who didn't need to know his secrets, someone who didn't press him to explain every little covered up lie about his past.

Currently Clara was fulfilling that role, wholeheartedly. But for some reason, it made her a little sad.

Since Clara and John had arrived a bit late, the proceedings commenced as soon as John took his seat beside Vastra. Unknown to both Clara and John, Simeon's eyes were trained on John taking his seat as he walked through the crowd, before his gaze searched the top row of observers looking down on the assembly. He smiled as he noticed Clara Oswald was also finding a seat, coincidentally arriving the same time as her boss. Simeon's calculation was quick and cutting, and the information stored into the back of his mind to refer to at a later time.

Wilfred Mott, the speaker for the Commons, commenced the debate. He announced that Skaro – the weaker half of the coalition during the last government – would go first, starting with Walter Simeon.

"Thank you, Mr Speaker," Simeon said; leaning on the despatch box, his eyes were piercing his opposition. "My question is for Madame Vastra. In Gallifrey's newly scripted election campaign, they claim to open _fifteen_ new hospitals in over-populated areas, all around the United Kingdom. This country is already in a recession, partly caused by Gallifrey's sympathetic policies to those in society who give nothing back. Isn't this just another way for Gallifrey to waste the tax-payers money, when it can be invested into other areas, which are more deprived?"

There was a clamour of muttered applause from the side of Skaro.

Vastra rose to the stand, in her elegant black dress, and shot Simeon a patronising smile. "Might I remind the Right Honourable Walter Simeon that the economic recession started ten years previously, when it was in the hands of Skaro's previous party leaders, who were all too sympathetic with the capitalist bankers, gambling with hard working tax-payers money. I will also add that Skaro's intentions after this next election are to _privatise_ the NHS. Need I say any more?"

As Vastra sat down, there was a thunderous clatter of agreement from Gallifrey. Wilfred was now calling for order as Skaro shouted back like children in a playground.

"Does Walter Simeon have anything to add?" Wilfred called over the excitement.

But Simeon was already back on his feet, and ready to talk into the microphone. "It's curious you should say that, Vastra, because I did some research at the weekend. You father was, as you say, a capitalist banker, gambling with the hard working tax-payers money, was he not?"

There was a hush of silence over the entire room. For a moment, a brief wavering moment, Vastra stayed seated. Her eyes were blazing with fiery anger when she stood up again, her hands gripping the edges of the despatch box.

"My father was indeed a manager for a well-established bank."

"And yet you proclaim yourself to be the representative of the working class?"

"After I witnessed first hand the hardship felt everyday by those in poverty when I accompanied my father on his work for charities, yes I do."

Clara sat back in her seat as she observed the argument below. There was no doubt Vastra was good.

"Charities, how sweet," Simeon said, "Anyone could do charity work with millions upon millions of pounds tucked away in their bank account."

"Order!" shouted Wilfred, clearly annoyed. "This personal attack has nothing to do with today's proceedings, nor will it ever. Sit down, Mr Simeon."

But that damage had already been done, and everyone sitting in the assembly knew it. The journalists and newspapers would capitalise on this now, Clara was sure of it. Leader of Gallifrey, the party most sympathetic to the poor, sheltered behind her father's earnings. Yet, all along Vastra had known this was going to happen; now it was all clear. She was prepared for Simeon discovering her wealthy family history, and hopefully she had a plan or clear response to get herself out of it. One of the newspapers would surely listen; one of the news channels would report her response. That's how politics worked. Vastra wasn't in too deep yet.

The debates went on for another two hours. John, Clara was glad, missed out on any direct confrontation and he didn't lead any questions, either. He was playing it safe this week, it seemed. For some reason this didn't sit right with Clara. Not wanting to question it too much, Clara decided it must all be part of John's plan. Otherwise it didn't make any sense for him to sit back without attacking or defending. Then again, maybe he originally planned to ask a question, but was put off by the forceful retaliation that Jack, Jenny and Martha had already faced from different members of Skaro.

Compared to Gallifrey, Skaro were fighting with swords. Intent on destructing their opposition without any mercy.

Clara went to meet John, once again, inside the chamber. On her way in, Simeon and Saxon walked by, Simeon's sleeve just brushing against her shoulder. An involuntary shiver fell down Clara's spine like tumbling snow, making it look like Clara had flinched away from him. Saxon stared at her, curiously, but she avoided his gaze altogether.

"I'm sorry, Vastra," Jenny was saying when Clara approached. "That was cold, Simeon bringing up your father like that."

"I was expecting far worse, my dear," Vastra said, reaching out to take Jenny's hand. She looked towards Clara. "And how are you getting on, Clara? I'm glad to see you and the Doctor are supporting one another."

As if for emphasis, or perhaps subconsciously, the Doctor placed a loose arm around Clara's shoulders, beaming at Vastra. "I'd be lost without her now, Vastra. Keeps me in line. She's the boss."

Clara went from looking at the Doctor's hand gripping her arm to his smiling face. "Am I?"

He was suddenly aware of his arm wrapped around her waist and gripping her shoulder. He started, jumping back a bit, so that there was a tiny gap between them. "No. No! Absolutely not."

The rest of the day went by without much of a fuss. The tone back in the office was much more flat than it usually was, which might have been something to do with the television Rose had brought into the office so they could monitor what was being said about the latest campaigning. So far it didn't look too good. Every channel was focusing on the negatives rather than the intended conflict creating by Skaro. It all became too much for Strax, who in his temper, tore the plug from the wall and stamped on the remote control, as if the television had personally offended him. He handed Rose the remains of the controls, which was almost a small pile of black dust that he poured onto her desk.

John disappeared just before closing time, and when Clara noticed this, she felt a stab of disappointment echo in her chest. When she was packing up her belongings, talking to Rose about Jack's party the following week, John returned, twirling his car keys around his index finger.

"Look," he said, leaning over her desk. "Dropped the motorbike home, I have the TARDIS back. Guess what that means?"

"You're overly attached to your car?"

"Yes, but what else, Clara Oswald?"

She was quite aware of Rose's eyes boring into the back of her head.

The Doctor's eyes glistened as his mouth pulled into a large grin. "I'm going to teach you how to drive!"

"Tonight?!" Clara squeaked.

He shrugged. "If that's okay with you. What do you think, eh? Eh?"

Clara sighed. She placed the back of her hand across her cheek and slowly shook her head. "I think you've just made a _very_ big mistake."

* * *

_ Two hours later_

"No, no – I said slowly Clara! _I said slowly!"_

"Like this?"

"Clara, nooooooo!"

"What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing!"

The Doctor lunged himself over Clara's body, his arms outstretched so his hands clasped the wheel while his leg pushed into the breaks. The car squealed to a stop just as John pulled Clara's head against his chest, preparing for an impact.

But it never came.

The front of the car was only millimetres away from touching the bricked wall. When the couple realised that they were safe, they sat frozen in their positions, each of their breathing heavy. Slowly, the Doctor sat up, releasing Clara from his iron grip. Her hair was ruffled, strands sticking up at the back, but then he realised the awkward way he was sitting and awkwardly clambered back into the passenger's seat.

He had taken her to an abandoned car park, in the middle of a wasteland, in his attempt to teach her how to drive. Nearly two hours into it, the Doctor admitted this was one goal he could not complete.

Clara was terrible at driving.

"What was that?"

Interrupting his thoughts, the Doctor was a bit slow to reply. "You nearly killing us. That's what that was."

"No, I mean… Did you try to" – she searched for the right word, a little embarrassed – "_protect_ me?"

The Doctor instantly blushed. "Um, well, I didn't want you to – you know."

She was staring at him now. Brown eyes large and watery, her lips opened slightly. "Thanks."

He smoothed back his hair, sitting a little taller in his seat, a reluctant smile on his face. "Why don't we go for something to eat? Nothing fancy. I think we could do with something after that adventure."

"Yeah," Clara agreed, shooting him a mischievous smirk. "Shall I drive?"

The look on his face was priceless.

* * *

** Note: Not happy with this chapter at all, but really had to rush it because of uni work. Next chapter will jump forward a little bit: it's Jack's party mentioned in the first chapter! Reviews would be great guys, thanks a lot! **


	9. Cocktails and Courage

** A/N: Uni work is killing me. Anyway, hopefully you all like this one! Clara and the Doctor are definitely getting closer. Oh, and excuse my terrible ****_Doctor Who_**** joke halfway through. I wasn't sure whether to leave it in or not. I had to cut Jack's party in half, because a lot happens and I don't want it being too long and boring. Big thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter: My friends My world, Dede42, BloodLily16, ImpossibleClara9 (you're the best!), Guest, UchihaHakura64, Guest, Yugicanbesexy (hmm… wait and see!), xXSnowyDreamsXx, Ellie606 and lifewithdaleks (big fan of your stories). If I missed anyone, sorry, make me aware of it! Enjoy.**

** Chapter Nine: Cocktails and Courage**

The next week and a half passed by in a bit of a blur.

Clara's workload was increasing – especially as John's workload was increasing, and he had much more for her to research for his political debates and campaigning strategies. So far, Gallifrey were on a bit of a set back.

The media had turned against them. Vastra insisted that each election year the media tends to side with a particular party or point of view, this year it just happened to be Skaro. Nearly everyday there was a new headline commenting on Vastra's past, her family history, anything which may portray her in a negative light. The only thing they needed was for Simeon to give a suggestion, and the newspapers jumped on it the first chance they got. One newspaper went as far as researching Vastra's family history way back to the eighteen century, just to prove a point. It wasn't her fault that her family had once been aristocracy, and Clara couldn't see the point of Skaro capitalising on this. Most politicians came from a wealthy background. It wasn't unusual.

In fact, Clara was finding everything about the media's portrayal of Gallifrey a bit odd. When she was a politics student (and even before that when her father had been a politician) she could remember how each news channel had a particular stance for the general election. Usually it was quite even. She could not understand, as much as she tried, why _each_ news channel, newspaper, political radio shows, were _all_ turning against Gallifrey. They hadn't done anything wrong, to her knowledge.

When she confided in John about this matter of concern, he insisted that there was a reason behind it. The media was backing Skaro right now, but in three months, when it came to the actual election, he was sure they would change their mind. This didn't clear Clara from her worries. By then most people would already be decided on who to vote for, and as much as people liked to deny they were influenced by media representations, it definitely would have an impact.

Now Gallifrey had to restore Vastra's reputation, fight against the media's influence and combat Skaro and their obnoxious renewed arrogance. If anyone knew that the media was on Skaro's side – it was Skaro themselves.

But tonight they were intending to forget all of that. Tonight was the night of Jack's party, and Clara was promised it would be a night she would never forget.

She'd been spending a lot of time with John outside of work and their overall relationship was going from strength to strength. There was no other way to describe it than they simply enjoyed each other's company. In the past, Clara had a range of friends – ones who she could philosophise with, ones who she would ask for life advice, others who were good company for nights out because they knew all the good places for cheap drinks, and friends who just made her laugh every second they spent together. It was very rare for someone to be a bit of everything – the only person who she could think of was Nina, and she supposed that was the reason why they were still friends. But John was a serious contender, so far, to be the second in that category.

He was coming around to her apartment at eight o'clock and then setting off in a black taxi to Jack's house – both of them were intending to drink and only one of them could drive, so they arranged the transport issues beforehand like responsible adults. At the moment, Clara was staring into her dressing table mirror, fixing her earrings and wondering it she was too made up. Jack had a theme for his party tonight – dress up. Not like Halloween or particular code like superheroes, just dress up nice and fancy in anything you wanted. Clara had opted for a 1920s style outfit. Her hair was styled in a tidy bun, with loose hair and her fringe around her face loosely curled in waves. A sparkling red band with a sequin rose was keeping it in place. She had bright red lipstick and thick eyeliner with two little diamonds glued to the side of her eyelids – Nina's idea. Out of everything, Clara had to admit she was in love with her dress. Red satin detailed with small jewels that emphasised her figure. It was beautiful. The look was complete with silk red gloves reaching her elbows, and sparkly red high heels matching her clutch purse with extended chain.

Not bad, she decided. Not bad.

Just as she walked into the living room, there was a rap on their door. Nina was torn – she didn't know whether to compliment Clara or get the door, but as Clara shimmied her away, she chose the latter. John was standing in the threshold, tall and carelessly handsome, with his quiff flicked to the side. He had one hand in his pocket and the other one fixing his thin black – normal – tie. On his right eye he was wearing a silver eyepatch, metal and heavy looking and moulded to his eye shape.

Nina had no idea what he was supposed to be dressed up as, but she had to admit, he looked dashing.

She let him in and led him along to the living room where Clara was fixing her purse. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted her. His eyes widened and his mouth opened and suddenly his face felt rather hot. He loosened his collar and stuttered, unable to look away or form a coherent thought. Nina was standing next to him, stifling a laugh, as Clara remained completely oblivious.

"Nina already called for a taxi so it should be here in a minute," Clara said, still fiddling with her purse. "We'll be there on time, won't we? Or is it still stylish to be late?"

John's mouth opened and closed. "I – uh, you are – I mean, you look – really, really… good."

Clara glanced up at him, flashing him a teasing smile. "_Good_?"

"I mean amazing. I mean _amazing_," he repeated, trying to loosen his collar again. He glanced from Nina to Clara and said in a strained gush, "1920s, is that it? Flapper? Suits you. Really suits you."

Clara was smirking. "And what have you come as? All I can see different is a weird eyepatch." _And a normal tie instead of a bowtie_, she wanted to add.

The Doctor smoothed down his black, tidy, suit and pointed to his eye. "You don't know what this is? From that programme – the really famous one. _Professor Who_, it's called."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Sci-fi? I don't watch it, sorry. Sci-fi isn't really my thing." She turned to Nina, who was also dressed up. "Good luck tonight. Behave!"

Nina rolled her eyes and grabbed Clara's arm, pushing her towards the Doctor. "It's only a date, Clara. I'd much prefer spending the night with you two but I don't want to be third-wheeling."

Taking the Doctor's arm, and shooting her best friend a look which clearly said _you're lucky he didn't hear that_, Clara and the Doctor left the apartment to wait outside for their taxi. It was ten minutes before it arrived, pretty quick considering the time of night. John gave the taxi driver the address and then they settled back into conversation.

"What's Jack's house like? Must be pretty big considering the amount of people he's invited."

"It's massive. I mean huge. It had a swimming pool and casino, a private bar and a –"

Clara gaped. "Sounds like the ultimate bachelor pad."

John sniggered. "Yeah. He's had a fair few bachelor's around that place."

John wasn't exaggerating. Jack's house – mansion – was like something out of _The Great Gastby_, but much more space age. It had towers with arched windows, and the whole front of the house was completely glass. The garden had duck ponds and fancy wooden benches with a greenhouse around the back. Everything was a mixture of traditional and modern, as if Jack had lived through centuries and this was his full collection of memories. As the taxi driver stopped at the steps leading up to the welcoming and open front double doors, he let out an impressed sigh.

"I think this is you, kids," he said in his cockney accent. "Have a good night!"

John paid the man and gave him a generous tip before helping Clara out of the car. Flashing lights and laser beams were shining onto the patio from inside, and the pumping music was making the plants shake in their clay pots. John gave a delighted laugh, clasping Clara's hand in his own. She looked up at him, beaming, her fingers tingling with excitement.

As soon as they stepped through the doors, two waiters approached. They weren't your average waiters. Clara could help but stare as she noticed they were wearing nothing but ironed black trousers and shining black shoes, a loose bowtie hanging around their necks and settling on their muscled chests. On their silver plates, they offered the Doctor and Clara two champagne flute glasses, to which they gratefully accepted.

"No one's allowed in until they take a drink," said a voice from behind them. Jack, the host, was sauntering towards them, in a sparkling navy blue suit and opened white shirt. His eyes twinkled as they rested on Clara. He bowed, took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her palm.

"Clara you are the most exquisite thing a guy ever saw," he complimented.

Clara laughed. "Jack, I'm sure you say that to everyone."

Jack raised his eyebrows, as if she had set him a challenge. He beckoned over the nearest waiter, and when he approached, took the man's hand and kissed it passionately. "Mario, you're the most exquisite thing a guy ever saw!" he proclaimed.

Mario rolled his eyes and stalked away, calling to his friend, "Justin, do you have any sanitizer? Jack just kissed me."

The Doctor and Clara both chuckled, and Jack pulled them into a group hug. "Mario likes to jest," he said as they pulled away. "But he and Justin are friends of mine."

"Friends who you've slept with," the Doctor pointed out.

Jack frowned, acting dubious. "Isn't that what friends are for? That's why you two are _friends to be_. You'll give into my charms one day. And I know who's going to be first." With that, he looked the Doctor up and down, admiringly. "I must say, Doctor, you're looking pretty fine tonight."

But before the Doctor could respond, another couple had entered behind the Doctor and Clara. It was Rose and her husband, David. Rose was wearing a long golden dress and David, a pinstriped suit and converse. They made a beautiful pair. When Rose declined the champagne flute from Mario, Jack let out a scandalised gasp.

"Rosie! What's that I see? _You_ declining alcohol?" Jack crossed his arms. "You know I have rules. No one's allowed in until they have a drink. What's the point of parties unless you get absolutely wasted and have inappropriate –"

"Wait, Jack, you can understand why Rose isn't drinking, surely?" David said, reasonably, one of his hands on the small of Rose's back.

Rose smiled tightly. "David –"

"No, I cannot!" Jack argued indignantly. "Rose has never been responsible in her life, why should she start now?"

David turned to look down at Rose, who was rubbing the space in between her eyes. "Hold on, you haven't told them!" David exclaimed.

"I was waiting for the right moment, idiot," Rose hissed at her husband.

The Doctor frowned. "Right moment for what?"

David gave a little jump of excitement, his eyes alight with energy and he pleaded, "Oh, please Rose, can I say it? You got to say we were engaged, can I do it this time? Please?"

Resigned, Rose gave a little nod.

Beaming at the small crowd in their proximity, David opened his arms and he shouted, "_We're pregnant!_"

There was a moment of silence.

Rose slapped his arm and pulled him back. "I'm pregnant," she corrected, rolling her eyes. "_I'm_ pregnant."

There was an eruption of applause. Clara kissed Rose on the cheek and congratulated her, while the Doctor shook John's hand before pulling him into a hug. Jack jumped on everyone, pulling them all together as he squealed with joy. "Drinks!" he announced to the waiters. "Since Rose can't drink, everyone has to drink _twice_ as much for her! Do you all understand?"

In their group mash, Clara found herself awkwardly pushed against David's chest. He looked down at her the same time she looked up at him, and then his gaze automatically landed on the Doctor, as if he bridged the gap – or lack of – between them.

"Oh, this is awkward; I don't think we know each other." As Jack let them all go, and they each fell apart separately, David accepted Clara's hand. "You must be the Doctor's date?"

Clara's mouth fell open and she found herself stuttering. "I'm – I'm Clara."

He kissed the back of her hand and grinned. John had just caught up with their conversation and pointed angrily in David's face. "Not date, no, I specifically said it wasn't a date," John corrected his cousin, pointedly. Realising his words, he turned back to Clara, his hands clasping together. "Not like I wouldn't like you to be my date –"

"Clara, you're nearly done that glass, can I show you what else is on offer?" Jack said, giving the Doctor a persistent stare as he forcefully turned Clara on her heel and away from the group.

The Doctor watched her go, slamming the base of his palm against his forehead, chanting the word 'idiot' repeatedly to himself. David slapped him on the shoulder, trying his best not to laugh. "You're right. She _is_ charming."

"David," the Doctor groaned, downing the last of his champagne. "What am I going to do, David? You're good at this stuff. Tell me. She probably thinks I'm a weirdo."

"Then she'd be right," David retorted lightly, shooting a cheeky wink at Rose. When John didn't smile, he frowned. "Wow. You _do_ like her, don't you?"

He stared into the bottom of his empty flute glass, as if it contained all his sorrows. "She makes me feel…" he trailed off, unable to finish. When he looked back up, Rose and David were high-fiving, as if they'd been taking a secret bet. "Guys! I'm being serious. This is driving me insane. All I want to do is take her out on a date, you know? Just one. Just to see what happens. Even just to let her know that I – this feels _so_ childish."

"You're right," Rose agreed, firmly. "This is childish. Man up. Tell her she makes you giddy every time she laughs at one of your jokes. Tell her you can't even look at her properly tonight because she makes your insides turn to liquid. Tell her your heart swells when she steps too close to you and that you could spend all the free time you have with her, just because you want to make her smile."

John stared at Rose as if she was some sort of alien because she had taken the words he couldn't say right out of his thoughts. He leaned in, and whispered, "Can you say it? Exactly what you said, not a word different."

Rose slapped his arm. "What part of the _man up_ bit didn't you understand?"

David smiled a content smile, his eyes shining. "What you just said, is that how you feel about me?"

"Aw," Rose said, grabbing her husband's face and planting a soft kiss on his lips. "No, love, that's how I feel about chocolate." When David frowned, Rose let out an exasperated sigh and muttered _idiots_.

Across the house, at the back of living room, Jack and Clara were sitting on stools at the private bar. Another topless hunk of a waiter was serving them drinks. Cocktails, Clara asked for, because she didn't like shots and she was still trying to get over the last time she drank wine. Jack had already forced two cocktails into Clara's hand – a Raspberry Mojito, a Green Orchid and the waiter was making her a third, something called an Ace Ventura. Clara's head was already starting to feel the effects of the first two, but Jack insisted she try another. Anyways, Jack's reasoning was that she could have all the cocktails she wanted and didn't need to pay a single penny.

Clara did like cocktails.

That was when Vastra and Jenny joined them – Vastra in some sort of green face paint and fake curved sword, and Jenny dressed like a Victorian maid. Jack howled with delight, downing another shot of tequila, without the lemon.

"Amazing! The best outfits here!" Jack told them enthusiastically. "What are you?"

"I'm a lizard woman from the dawn of time, and this is my wife," announced Vastra.

Jack and Clara burst out laughing, and that was when Clara knew she was starting to get tipsy. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, but her third cocktail was ready – a delightful cloudy green served in a large jam jar with a slice of lime, and she was too curious not to try it.

As Jack, Vastra and Jenny fell into a humorous conversation, Clara felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned around to see a tall man with stubble and high cheekbones sitting on the stool beside her, looking her up and down.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Look, Doctor," Rose said, pointing to the bar as they walked through the dance floor. "That's what happens when you can't man up. Clara attracts attention."

And she was right. A man, with his back to him, was talking to Clara, who was sipping on a green drink and nodding as she listened. The Doctor bristled. That wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be fine with Jack until he picked up the courage to –

But now the Doctor was marching over, shoving his empty glass to the nearest half-naked waiter, sheer determination on his face and courage flooding his body.

He was going to do it. He was going to pull her to the side and ask her on a date.

He was going to say exactly what Rose said… but a bit less effortlessly.

He was going to be a stuttering, stumbling mess and would probably drink away his humiliation after she rejected him, but the Doctor was going to do it. He was going to ask Clara Oswald out on a date. Romantic, with flowers and chocolates and posh food with too much cutlery.

Nothing, or no one, was going to get in his way.

* * *

** Note: I love cocktails. Anyway, next time: Jack's Party Part II. Please review, guys, you're the best! **


	10. Nearly But Not Quite

**A/N: Having problems with the document manager, but I think I found a way around it. Hopefully this works. I think this chapter is the definitive of _nearly but not quite_. Thank you everyone who reviewed/read/new followers/old followers! Your reviews really make my day. So, here it is, Jack's party part two! Hope you enjoy, and please leave your comments!**

**Chapter Ten: Nearly But Not Quite**

He wasn't far away now. A few more strides and he'd be right in front of her, spilling his feelings. But with each footfall, his confidence started to drain from him like a leaking water bottle. He grabbed another champagne flute from the nearest waiter, downed it, and continued on, a little slower than before.

"Clara!" he shouted, in a gush of release as soon as he was in proximity. She jumped in shock at the loudness of his tone, poured a good bit of her cocktail down the front of her dress and arm and gasped in shock.

He rushed over, taking the jam jar cocktail out of her hand and placing it on the table. "No, no, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you – I just –"

But Clara was on her feet, shaking off the droplets from her dress and arm. "It's alright, I'll go get cleaned up!" When she passed him, she pulled him down to her level, and whispered, "Can you get rid of him? Bit of a weirdo. Too pushy."

The Doctor smiled to himself and took her empty seat. So he had nothing to worry about, after all. In fact, he had actually saved Clara by giving her an excuse to disappear from this man's company. That made him feel better and gave him a glitter of hope. She'd never wanted rid of him before, to his knowledge.

He looked at the man who was talking to Clara. Greasy hair, sleazy. Half-lidded eyes, big hands. Tattoo on his wrist. The Doctor sniffed disapprovingly. Definitely not Clara's type, he decided. What was Clara's type? Him? He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as a brief flash of fear of rejection washed over him.

"What's your name?" the Doctor asked, a little rougher than intended.

The man looked at him absurdly. "Marty."

"John," he said with a nod. "How do you know Jack?"

"Partners, weren't we? In the RAF." Marty shrugged. "Both dropped out at the same time. Difference was, he had qualifications. I didn't."

The Doctor didn't pretend to be interested. He'd been too pushy with Clara, and that automatically made the Doctor possess an unwarranted overly-protective defensive stance. Marty glanced behind the Doctor's shoulder and back to the abandoned cocktail glass, saying, "Your friend –"

"My date," the Doctor corrected.

Marty frowned. "Her date?"

The Doctor straightened. "Well, in a manner of speaking."

"In what manner?"

"We arrived together –"

"– and you intend to leave together?"

The Doctor raised his eyebrows at the implication. Marty gave a low, humourless chuckle and pushed away the rest of his beer. He got up and patted the Doctor, heavily, on the shoulder. "Sorry, mate. Didn't know she was taken."

As he stalked off, the Doctor's face grew hot. He rubbed his cheeks with his hands, blushing at the very idea of Clara overhearing him saying they were on a date. How was he going to ask her? His confidence was quickly diminishing.

But he was. He was going to do it tonight. It was the perfect opportunity.

That was when he saw her re-entering the room after returning from the bathroom. She was perky as ever (was she swaying slightly or had the Doctor had too much to drink?) so, the Doctor cleared his throat and fixed his bowtie, ready to push himself into action.

But Donna had intervened. The redhead – dressed in a Roman toga – pulled Clara into a bear hug, grabbing her attention and sweeping her away in the crowd. The Doctor swore. How was this fair? How could Clara be so popular when she hadn't even been at the job for a month?

He contemplated going after her, but someone had slid a bottle of cider in front of him with a friendly slap on the arm. He looked up to see Mickey, Martha's husband.

"What a good party," Mickey said, taking a sip. "Free booze. Loud music. Good company. I have to hand it to Jack."

"Yeah," the Doctor murmured sullenly.

Mickey frowned. "What's up with you? Shouldn't you be one of the happiest here? Promotion, new job title. Wish that would happen to me."

"It's not that." He sighed, now suddenly fascinated with the label on his cider. "You know when you really want to say something but you can't find the right time… or the right words…"

Smiling and gleeful, Mickey released a low laugh. He studied the man he knew quite well beside him; how his shoulders dropped, how his eyes held a misty sorrow, how his hand pushed the cider back and forward. "Hah! It's a woman. You're upset over a woman."

"I'm hardly upset over a dog, Mickey," he retorted, turning to glare at the man.

"Sorry, but, I thought you were just… Never mind, you've been single for a while and I –"

"You what?"

"This is the first time I've seen you interested in someone, that's all. It's different."

The Doctor hated that. He hated how everyone was so surprised he had taken an interest in Clara. It wasn't like he was against the idea of dating; he was just patient to wait for the right person instead for settling on someone he only half-liked. The Doctor didn't mind being alone – he was always quick to stress the difference between being lonely and being alone. Lonely was what he'd felt for the majority of his life, it was that dreaded cold feeling at the bottom of your chest, when you suddenly realised that there was no one around you, no one you can trust or depend on. No one to call, no one to keep you company. Being alone had a certain contentment – you knew you had people there, if you wished, but you don't actually mind your own company. One had fulfilment, the other did not.

He'd felt lonely after his parents had went missing. David and his granddad helped with some of that, but nothing could ever heal that scar. It was there to stay, as real as they had been. But he knew David and his granddad understood that feeling. They'd both experienced it themselves, for similar circumstances. After a few years the pain gradually faded and was replaced by acceptance. Maybe that was the worst part, he wasn't quite sure. The next time he was lonely was when his relationship with River had ended. He'd invested so much into one person and it all went to waste. Amy and Rory were engaged by this time, David and Rose were already married, all of his friends were slowly being carted off into adulthood and he was left staring at the empty space where his was supposed to be. Now, however, he felt more alone than lonely. He had good friends in work, and he felt contented at that, and he didn't mind so much that his evenings weren't spent giggling with Amy and Rory with childish splendour anymore, and it didn't really bother him that his weekends were an empty schedule of nothing to do.

Just as he felt settled with his predicament, Clara came along. He'd spent a little time after work driving Clara home. But that wasn't what bothered him. Each day, as he left her at her apartment, he'd feel a pang of regret. He'd actually wanted to spend more time with her; this fresh burst of rejuvenating energy which just happened before him. Then they'd spent that Friday night together, which they had dubbed 'their sleepover' and he'd never felt so _alive_. There was a warmth in his chest which he'd forgotten could exist – it hadn't existed since he was a teenager. Every weekend since he'd been calling her up, seeing if she was free, making arrangements to see her again, because if he didn't, the overpowering loneliness fell on top of him like a tonne of bricks. Clara Oswald made him feel alive and warm. Clara Oswald also reminded him of his sheer loneliness when she was gone.

That's what made her impossible. But the Doctor liked impossible.

Sometimes you don't realise what you're missing until it's offered to you again. And now, the Doctor wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol or not (didn't alcohol just let you feel emotions you could easily suppress without it?) but now he knew he _needed_ to ask Clara out on a date. Rose was right. He'd have to man up.

He felt like she could make him a better person. How often did someone like that come around?

"What's her name?"

The Doctor was hastily pulled out of his inner thoughts. He looked back at Mickey, a little lightened, and said, "Her name's Clara."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. To hide his smile, he took a drink of cider.

"What?" the Doctor asked. He recognised that face.

"Oh, just." He shook his head and paused. "Martha was talking to me about you two. She reckoned there was something going on."

The Doctor looked absolutely betrayed. "Have you all been forming some sort of conspiracy against us? First David and Rose, and now you and –"

"Oh, yeah. Rose is here." Mickey grimaced. The Doctor knew, in detail, of the situation between David, Rose, Mickey and Martha, having been friends with all of them for a few years now. It was complicated, as ever. Rose had dated Mickey, and then went out with David. In a brief moment of panic when David thought he'd lost Rose forever, he had found comfort in Martha. Rose thought something was going on between them, but it was purely one sided. That was how Mickey found Martha, but ever since, there has been an, understandably, awkward tension between the two couples. Despite that, Rose and Martha have been able to push past the tension so they could word together on their new project.

John and Mickey were then joined by Wilf – not only the Speaker in the Commons, but also Donna's legendary grandfather. It was technically politically incorrect for him to be here, but that didn't stop him from getting stuck in. He was dressed as a sailor, clutching two pints and embraced John and Mickey with a cheery hello.

* * *

He didn't know how the time flew by, yet, when the Doctor asked Jack for the time, he was told it was already half twelve. He was growing impatient, after not seeing Clara for a few hours, especially when he couldn't find her. Jack could see he was agitated, and he knew exactly why.

"She's upstairs," Jack called over the music. They were standing directly beside a pumping speaker.

"Upstairs?"

"In the Games room, beside the Casino. Do you know it?"

The Doctor smiled. "Yeah. Thanks, Jack!"

Jack winked and gave him a one armed hug. "Go get her, tiger!"

The immediate butterflies in his stomach meant the Doctor couldn't even roll his eyes at Jack's comment. He zoomed off, sliding through the dancing couples, groups of people, chatting friends. His heart was hammering against his chest.

He took two steps at a time up Jack's spiralling staircase. Three steps at a time. He was practically bouncing his way up. When he reached the Games room, he was slightly out of breath and flustered. Clara was standing in the middle of the room with Rose, Donna and Martha. She was in the middle of a game of Air Hockey against Rose. Just as he entered, Clara scored a goal, and burst into an eruption of gloating joy. Rose swore and handed the game over to Donna, who was cracking her fingers in preparation.

Clara spotted John hovering in the doorway, and in that split second, she beamed. The Doctor's heart heaved with delight and rushed over to her, sweeping her up into a hug. She squealed with delight, and when he set her back down, she was still beaming. A shirtless waiter approached from the corner of the room, offering them both a champagne flute. The Doctor declined, his nerves too high, but Clara accepted with a quick thanks. Squinting, the Doctor frowned.

"Are you swaying?" he asked.

"You're not swaying, I'm swaying," Clara said. She, too, frowned and then corrected, "No wait, I'm not swaying, you're swaying."

Rose interjected, while staring disdainfully at the Air Hockey table, "Despite Clara being terribly drunk, her aim is still perfect. I don't know how that works. It's not fair."

"John, I won. I won them all!" Clara told him excitedly, champagne in one hand while she steadied herself against him with the other.

"Not this time, sunshine!" bellowed Donna, readying herself by jumping on the spot. "This one's going straight home with Team Donna!"

John stared incredulously at Rose as his hands rested on Clara's waist to keep her standing. "What have they been drinking?"

Rose shrugged and sighed. "I don't know. I think Jack added a little something extra to the champagne. You know, like he always does. And Clara's right. You're swaying too."

At that, John glanced to the floor and looked at his legs. He didn't feel himself swaying. He hadn't _that_ much too drink – he was tipsy, if that. Clara was idly sipping on her glass, and the Doctor felt a twinge of worry pass over him. "Clara, do you think you should stop?"

"See," she started, smoothing down her dress. "That's what I said to Jack after I'd had my second – no, my third… wait, how many did I have? Anyway, I said that to Jack and he said to me that we all had to drink twice the amount because Rose can't drink at the moment. And then he pointed out that, technically, we had to drink for three people because of the baby."

Rose raised her hands in surrender. "Don't blame me and my baby on the hangover you'll have tomorrow!"

Donna made a noise of disapproval. "Being responsible doesn't suit you, Rose. Better stop now."

"I'm using nights like these as practice for the future. If I can look after drunk people, I can definitely look after a child." Rose paused. "Actually, where is my husband?"

She stalked off, into the casino, shouting David's name.

"John, John," Clara said, pulling on the lapels of his blazer. "Play us at Air Hockey."

It didn't take much persuasion for John to accept. He played Donna once and Clara twice. Clara won Donna, John and Clara drew twice, and John lost to Donna. They decided to call it off after that, partly because John could tell Clara was starting to feel tired and he, himself, was starting to feel tired too. All three of them re-joined the action downstairs, where Jack's party was at a peek. It was already quarter to three in the morning, and John knew (after having attended Jack's parties before) that it would continue until the dawn. Jack pulled them into the kitchen, where a selection of nibbles were laid out on offer, and recommended the asparagus wrapped in a blanket of Parma ham.

Rose had found David, and she was tucking into a full meal, which Jack had asked a chef to cook for her because she was feeling hungry. David was staring at the beef, almost longingly, insisted he didn't want any but stealing the odd chip whenever he could. Clara watched them, smiling. They moved around each other in a way that told everyone around them how close and devoted they were to one another. They couldn't see it themselves, and Clara thought that was sad, because it was one of the most beautiful things the world had to offer. At that thought, she pulled on John's blazer and leaned her head against his chest, as a pillow. She felt his chest shudder as he laughed, and placed a soft hand on her back.

"Time to go?" he asked, gently.

Clara shook her head, eyes still closed. "I just remembered a few moments ago. I left my key in the house. Nina won't be back until the morning, you know how she is."

"Sure, I can" – he paused, being careful with his words – "you can stay at mine. It's no bother. Then I'll drive you around in the morning when you think Nina will be home."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Didn't you let me stay when I was too drunk to drive?"

"Thank you, John." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but still couldn't reach. John had to bend down to help her. She added, "You're such a gentleman."

He smiled and draped his arm over her shoulders to keep her steady. There was no point, he decided. There was no point in telling her how he felt tonight, not when she probably wouldn't remember in the morning, depending on how drunk she really was. He would tell her in the morning, yes – he would make her breakfast, a nice little treat, and then just before he brought her home, he would tell her. He was determined about this, more determined than he'd been about anything in a long time.

They thanked Jack – who kissed each of them, fully, on the mouth – and he tried persuading them not to go. But Clara was well and truly close to falling asleep, and even Jack could see that. He offered them rooms if they wished to stay, but the Doctor thought about his plan for the morning, and insisted they'd already taken too much of his generosity. John ordered a taxi on his mobile and then they wished everyone a good night.

As they were crossing the main hall, a topless waiter wished them good bye. Clara stared at the man for a moment, narrowing her eyes. She pointed to the half-naked men.

"They're wearing bowties," she told him, as if he hadn't noticed.

"I know."

"You wear bowties."

He smiled. "I know I do. Yeah."

"Why couldn't you dress up like that tonight?" Clara complained.

The Doctor immediately blushed with embarrassment. He didn't mean to let go of her, but he did. She staggered slightly, reaching out for him, and he quickly regained his composure. He found himself stuttering, unable to reason with himself why Clara would compare him to one of Jack's topless waiters. But Clara wasn't waiting for a response. Somewhere in between her last comment and his embarrassment, she had fallen asleep against his chest. The Doctor smiled, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her to the taxi, where he settled her safely and snuggly by his side.

He knew his smile wouldn't fade for days.


	11. Hinting

** A/N: Everything gets a wee bit more serious after those last two chapters, which were supposed to be light-hearted (entirely up to you if you thought they were or not). This one is a little bit shorter because I need a full chapter for the next one – big drama! Then, after the next chapter which changes John in a lot of ways, the plot steps up to level two which I am super excited about. That means two explosive chapters in a row, so hopefully you can forgive this short one. Reviews would make my day – whether it be criticisms, suggestions, ideas, theories on what's going to happen. I love hearing it all (can we reach over 100?!). A big thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed last chapter: Soultigerdrwho, ThePotterDoctor, ImpossibleClara9, UchihaHakura64, TheStars, remembermecleverboy, OhMyStarsShiz, Yugicanbesexy, Dede42 and Guest. I love all my regular reviewers and some of them have great fics too. Hope you enjoy!**

** Chapter Eleven: Hinting**

The first thing Clara was aware of was the blankets around her. She felt unbelievably cosy and warm. Her hand twitched to pull the duvet closer to her, up around her chin, and repositioned her head on the pillow. The second thing Clara became aware of was the smell. She breathed in deeply once more and lingered on the scent in her nostrils. That wasn't a familiar smell. The pillow smelt of musky birch and sweet lemon.

This wasn't her pillow.

She jumped to a start, lifting her head off the pillow to stare around the room. This wasn't her room.

How the hell did she get here?

Her heart lurched as her mind thought up a thousand different scenarios at once. Jack's party, the alcohol, and the fact she couldn't remember anything after the third cocktail. She pulled away the duvet to see she was only in her underwear.

_Oh, god_. She desperately hoped she hadn't done something she was about to regret for the rest of her life. But she knew – despite the amount of alcohol she might've consumed, Clara knew it wasn't like her to do this sort of thing. It just wasn't.

Irrationally, she blamed Jack. It was easy to blame Jack. Him and his free alcohol.

Someone had left a navy blue dressing gown on the bottom of the bed. She stepped onto the floor, wobbled a bit, and then pulled it on; bracing herself to see whose house she had spent the night in.

Wherever she was, she had to admit, as she stepped out into the hall, the décor was beautiful. Spacious, cream and blue, modern but homely. A lot of care and attention into the smallest details. She turned the corridor, staring briefly at a painting hanging on the wall of a gorgeous sunset, before finding that she was heading to the kitchen. There, sitting at a black glossy table, was John Docherty, sipping a cup of tea quite patiently. She paused, heart hammering, just in time for him to glance up at her, face beaming.

"Clara!" he announced. "Glad to see you're awake. I made breakfast!"

And, to her impressed astonishment, the table was covered with pancakes, strawberries, honey, golden syrup and nutella. However, the feeling didn't last for long, and was quickly replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and awkward confusion. She softly tiptoed across the cold floor and sat on the high-topped chair beside him. Her eyes gazed over the food and rested on his face, already feeling the blush spread over her cheeks at the question she was about to ask.

"What… happened last night?" Her eyes darted across the room to avoid his stare.

He floundered for a moment, wondering what she meant exactly. But then it hit him – how she sat awkwardly on the edge of the chair, the faint pinkness on her cheeks. John suddenly felt the warmth in the room that Clara could feel and he stuttered in his urgency to reply.

"Oh- Oh, no, I um – you were a little drunk and said that you left your key at home, so I offered you a place to stay. Nothing _happened_, I promise."

Clara frowned. She hadn't forgotten her key. She'd put it in her purse before she left. Then she cringed. _Oh god_, her drunken self just didn't want to leave John. Well, she could deal with that as long as John never knew. Never ever knew. Her shoulders relaxed as relief washed over her – she was just glad it was the Doctor with who she left with and not some sleazy guy who would've taken advantage of her. However, there was a large part of her that knew she wouldn't have lied about leaving her key at home to spend more time with any guy other than John.

She didn't know quite what to make of that.

"John, I'm sorry, I'm such a –"

"No, Clara, don't apologise. All I did was let you stay in the spare room. And this, well," – a he gestured to the food in front of them – "I thought I'd make breakfast. Hospitality and all that."

She smiled. The pancakes did look good. He nodded towards the plates, silently telling her to dig in. She thanked him, hoping he understood it was for everything, and took a pancake, a few strawberries and spreading nutella all over the surface. This really was a treat.

"What do you remember of last night?"

Clara shrugged. "Hardly anything after Jack dragged me away to the bar. I remember a little bit of ping pong, air hockey, the odd conversation… But overall it's just a huge blur."

"No hangover?"

"Miraculously. What about you?" Now that she properly looked at him, he seemed a bit different. Fidgety. Almost nervous.

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine." There was a silence. Not awkward or stiff, a rather comfortable one. John seemed to be musing over something and Clara didn't want to interrupt his thoughts. He looked serious, despite the fact he was smiling.

"I, um," he started, his hand reaching to his hair and casually leaning back in his chair. "I'm having dinner, tomorrow night, with Amy and Rory. You know, my friends I mentioned? I was just wondering – well, I wanted to suggest something last night but the timing wasn't right and the, um, anyway. Would you like to join us? With me. It's just here. At my house. Obviously. I'll be cooking. I'd like to introduce you, if you know what I mean, have a nice little evening in. Just me and you and Amy and Rory."

Clara stopped spreading the nutella over the pancake. She froze, her heart palpitating for the third time that morning. Was this a date? Was he suggesting, or hinting, that this was a date_? Oh, please, yes, let this be a date_. Her eyes widened at that inner thought. No. She didn't want to go there. He was her boss. She didn't date her boss. But John wasn't any boss, John was her friend, her really unfairly hot friend who seemed so lonely and was so funny and… She'd already gotten drunk at a staff party when she said she wouldn't. Could she really break a second rule? But this was _John_, and he made her so happy. Every time she tried to talk herself out of it, her heart screamed at her to listen.

"Would this be… a friendly date – I mean," she swore at herself for mentioning that word, "_evening_, or you know…"

John was still. She'd never seen him so still. He was perfectly perched, his eyes impossibly wide. "If you want it to be a date, it can be a date. I'd like it to be a date."

_ I'd like it to be a date too_, she wanted to say. She wanted to say it so badly. "John, I don't know –"

He jumped as if she slapped him. "Of course not, no –"

"John, listen, it's not like I don't want to." For emphasis, she leaned over the table and picked up his defeated hand, gripping it tightly for the both of them. "But do you think it's wise? I mean, _us_. It's just – we're co-workers. What would Vastra say? Imagine the rumours, the implications." But even as she talked them out of it, her heart was beating painfully tight, and her lips felt heavy. "What do you think?"

He studied her face for a few seconds. She felt his eyes go up and down, taking in every bit of her. Then he said, "All I can think of is how you make me feel. And I won't do anything to harm that. Be it friends or – well, you know…"

_You're starting to mean a lot to me._ That's what he wanted to say. Despite how complicated and true Clara's words were, he couldn't shake his real feelings.

He knew he shouldn't fancy this girl. But he really did.

Clara opened her mouth to speak; without much thought, without thinking about how it would make her feel later, she was going to let go for this one time and listen freely to her heart. But just before she could get the words out, John was speaking again.

"Forget what I said. Join us tomorrow night anyway. I'd really like you to meet Amy and Rory."

Clara closed her mouth. The words died on her lips. Should she contradict him again? Say what the hell, and just go for it?

"Sure, I will. I look forward to it." Her chest was weighted down with everything she wanted to say and all of her suppressed feelings which were slowly brimming to the surface. It was a like an over-boiling pot, ready to spill over, the lid being forced back down by Clara's worries and fears.

The Doctor felt like that too.

Little did they know that they were both feeling exactly the same way – full of fears and insecurities, almost overpowering their affection. When would it finally overflow? What would the outcome be? But for now they would enjoy their breakfast, exchanging sweet smiles laced with meaning and sideways glances out of the corner of their hearts.


	12. Lonely Hearts

** A/N: Wow! An _unbelievable_ amount of reviews on that last chapter, that's amazing! It's because of those _twenty_ reviews, that this chapter is brought to you two days early. Just a little bit about this chapter: some of the themes at the end extend into the next one, so it's left unexplored for a reason. Also, Rory and Clara flirted in Asylum, so I thought I would bring a bit of that into this story. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, some of your theories are pretty spot on and some of your compliments are too generous: Emilh, Guest, Guest, Ilyanna, Yugicanbesexy, y8man, lifewithdaleks, librarykate, sassywriterchick, Ded42, Guest, Guest, Soultigerdrwho, Orchids117, Dragon628, OhMyStarsShiz, ImpossibleClara9, BloodLily16, My friends My world and ThePotterDoctor. Hope you enjoy!**

** Chapter Twelve: Lonely Hearts**

Clara arrived at the Doctor's apartment around half six the following evening. She was dressed in a plain navy blue dress with a plunged neckline and chiffon sleeves. A bottle of wine was clutched in her hands – a present for John, partly because it was traditional and partly because wine was now a private joke between them. When John opened the door, she was immediately greeted with a huge warm hug, which lifted her from the floor, before she had a chance to step through the threshold. They laughed together, Clara hugging him just as tightly in response. They pulled away simultaneously. John was wearing a blue shirt and a purple bowtie without the blazer. Clara smiled.

"Wine. Rosé and all. That's brilliant, thank you Clara."

"It's only a bottle of wine, John. Besides, I thought I'd better bring something after the feast you promised us tonight."

He took her coat – all gentleman like – and looked around for a coat stand. He was sure he had one. Somewhere. He carried it into the kitchen and placed it gently over the side of a spare chair. Clara gasped as she saw the table; it was decorated with candles and fancy wine glasses running with colour, napkins folded into neat triangles and plates gilded with gold. The smell in the kitchen was also exquisite. Something was roasting in the oven and sizzling in the pan. Clara was more than a little impressed.

"This is wonderful, John."

"Well," he said modestly, "I do my best."

Clara felt a twinge of nervousness at the bottom of her stomach. "When do Amy and Rory get here?"

He looked at his pocket watch. "Should be here in a few minutes."

Clara paused. "Do you think they'll like me?"

Never before had Clara cared about people liking her, not really. Not to the extent everyone else usually did. But this time it was different. She and the Doctor got along so well, so quickly, that it would feel particularly strange to her if his best friends were nothing like she imagined. You carry different friends along different eras in your life, she knew that. Sometimes people take childhood friends into adulthood. This wasn't the case for Clara. She moved on too quickly without looking back too long. But childhood friends see you differently to how teenage friends know you, or even university friends. Either Amy and Rory would be an echo of what the Doctor used to be, or they changed and grew up with him, to be the same kind of person.

And if they didn't like her, would that change the Doctor's opinion?

He was over to her in an instant of course, intent on putting a smile back on her face. He bent down to kiss the top of her head and smoothed the back of her hair. "Clara, they're going to love you. How could they not?"

She smiled, genuinely, and started assisting him in fixing the chairs around the table. He informed her that the starter was nearly ready – a lovely vegetable risotto packed with flavour. They were just about to open the wine and have a sneaky sip before Amy and Rory arrived when there was a few knocks on the door. John jumped to his feet, handed Clara the wine glass, smoothed himself down and ran for the door. Clara gulped. She stood up too, she wasn't really sure why, and braced herself to meet the Doctor's oldest friends.

She could hear greetings and cheery apologies in the hall. It was all a bit _too_ cheery for her. Clara always thought that when someone was too enthusiastic, it was forced for some reason or other. She didn't linger on it too long because she could hear footsteps coming her way and there was no turning back now, none whatsoever; she had agreed to this and there was no way out.

It didn't help Clara's anxiousness when John walked into the kitchen first, extended his arms like he was showing off his prized piece and declared, "This is Clara! Say hello!"

Amy was a tall woman. Extremely tall. Dark ginger hair and pale skin, very pretty. Clara felt small and stumpy in comparison. Rory was the same height as his wife, with light brown hair and kind, friendly eyes. It was Rory who greeted her first, with an awkward hello and a light peck on her cheek. He stepped aside to let Amy greet Clara. Amy's eyes raked over her, and she kept her distance, muttering a quick, "We've heard about you."

"Oh?" Clara took a sip of her wine. "I've heard about you too."

But Amy didn't elaborate. John was by Clara's side in an instant, relieving her of his wine glass. He gestured for everyone to sit at the table – Amy and Rory on one side and him and Clara on the other. He passed Amy and Rory the bottle of wine that they'd already opened, an apology ready at his lips.

"Sorry, guys, Clara and I opened the wine just before you arrived. Bad manners, I know, but we couldn't help ourselves."

"Doctor, don't worry about it," said Rory, pouring Amy a glass too. "We've finished whole bottles of wine before you've even arrived, in the past."

"Something smells great," put in Amy, staring at the cooker. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Vegetable risotto, roast pork and assorted veg and for dessert, warm chocolate fudge cake and ice cream."

"Wow, outshone us again. And there's two of us when we cook."

"Well." John shrugged. "Clara helped me a little bit."

Clara frowned. "No, I didn't. This was all you!"

"Yeah, the cooking, but yesterday I ran the menu past you and you corrected some of it, remember?"

She smirked, ready to tease him. "Only you're spelling mistakes."

John smiled and narrowed his eyes. "I still maintain that _coriander_ –"

"– has no apostrophe over the _I_, in any circumstance."

"But it should!"

"Should I contact the Oxford English Dictionary on Monday?" Clara joked, laughing. "Demand a spelling change in the name of Gallifrey?"

John nodded and crossed his arms. "Yes – very good idea. I'm putting this on our new election manifesto."

A timer beeped behind them, and the Doctor scrambled to save the risotto before it burnt. Rory leaned across the table, directly facing Clara, and whispered, "What's he like? Being a boss, I mean. I always thought he had trouble taking charge of his dress sense, never mind another person."

Despite having his back turned, the Doctor shouted, "I can still hear you, you know!"

Clara leaned in to join Rory over the table. "It's like looking after an oversized giraffe. I don't know how he survived on his own, before. Never mind being deputy, he can't control his own limbs."

Rory laughed in delight and sat back in his chair. "That's a perfect description of him, if I ever heard one."

John was back with three plates – handing one to Clara, Amy and Rory in that order before retrieving his own. He huffed, acting moody, and muttered, "At least I can reach the shelves in the office."

Clara's eyebrows pulled together. "Oi! Those shelves are unusually high, okay?"

"No," he corrected, grinning. "You're just unusually short."

Automatically, as if it was an instinct deeply ingrained into his subconscious, the Doctor glanced up at Amy. Her eyes were trained onto her food, without the smallest implication she was listening or paying attention to the conversation. He shuffled. That wasn't a good sign.

"What do you think, Amy?" he prompted. "My cuisine up to your standards?"

She jumped a little bit. "Oh, mhm. It's great. Really great. Better than usual."

Just as he was about to protest, Clara interjected, rather shyly, "What was John like when he was a teenager? Have you any embarrassing stories?"

Amy looked up at her, face completely expressionless. She knew Clara was trying to make an effort, and Amy knew she wasn't exactly building any bridges, but a part of her didn't want to. It didn't feel right – Clara here, eating dinner with them, pretending her and the Doctor had been friends for longer than they had. For goodness sake, they'd only known each other for nearly a month. But here they were, acting all cutesy, with Rory playing along. The Doctor didn't look like that at River. She was the person who should be sitting in Clara's seat. It should be the four of them reminiscing over old times, not Clara, the River-replacement.

Amy felt irritated and she didn't know why. A large part of her knew she was redirecting her anger at Clara, the anger that she should be firing at herself. Especially with what they had planned to discuss over dessert.

They were going to break the Doctor's heart. She couldn't handle that fact.

Rory was babbling with Clara, joking and laughing and acting like best friends. The Doctor was looking on with a faint pride and fondness, back and forth between the conversation. Amy narrowed her eyes at her husband as she saw him do that weird flicky thing with his hair – he hardly ever did that. He only did that when he was flirting with _her_.

Once they were finished their first course, the Doctor asked Clara to help him with the plates. They briefly left the room together to get another bottle of wine – the Doctor wanted Clara's opinion, apparently. That gave Amy and Rory a few minutes on their own. Rory looked at her expectedly.

"Well," she demanded, "What do you think of her?"

Her husband gave a wide smile. "She's great. I love her." He flinched and corrected quickly, "I didn't mean love. I just mean like. You know, I love her personality. Perfect for the Doctor."

Amy frowned, crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her chair away from the table. "Have you seen the way they look at each other? Makes me want to throw up."

Rory raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Wait, why don't you like her?" He lowered her voice and added, "Is this about River?"

"I _can't_ not like her, that's the problem! She's perfect. She's funny and friendly and chatty and so not River. Completely not River. Not even the tiniest resemblance. If there was, I could say that he's missing River and that's why he likes Clara so much. It's doing my head in." She groaned and leaned her head on Rory's shoulder. "Why can't I just hate her, Rory? Why can't there be something about her that I can just hate? It would be so much easier."

"Eh, listen. You don't have to be like this. Liking Clara isn't betraying River."

"I feel like it is," she whispered, more to herself than to him. She jumped up, suddenly, and squinted at her husband. "And you! Stop doing that. Stop flirting."

"Flirting?" Rory squeaked.

"Yes, flirting! I can see it – you're doing that flicky hair thing. Clara's stolen one of my boys; she's not getting the other one too."

Rory chuckled but continued to deny it. He could hear Clara and the Doctor's footsteps quickly approaching, so he sat up straight and muttered to his wife, "Make an effort. Come on."

Amy sighed, as if she was being held back against her own will. She looked up to see Clara clutching one bottle and the Doctor holding another. She couldn't help but let out a snort.

"You both really like your booze, don't you?"

"We can't decide," the Doctor told her. "White or red? What would go better with pork?"

Amy gaped a little. "What's gotten into you? Why are you acting so… weird?"

He shrugged, a little coldly, handing Clara his wine bottle and heading over to the cooker. "I'm just happy, Amy. Got all my friends with me. Having a good time. It's been while; perhaps you forget what it looks like."

She knew his comment was snide, and yet, it sounded more sad than snide. He was having a dig at them for not spending enough time with him lately, for her being judgemental of Clara the last time they'd seen each other. Amy couldn't be angry at him. Not with the news they were going to break later.

"White," Rory said, adamantly, getting back on track. "Definitely white wine with pork. Don't you think?"

Clara was quick on the uptake. "Yes, I agree, Rory. Definitely white. Refreshing instead of rich."

While the Doctor attended to the roast joint of pork, Clara unscrewed the wine and started pouring everyone a generous glass. Every so often her eyes would flit over to the Doctor, concerned and curious. Amy could see Rory staring pointedly at her from the corner of her eye, and she let out a light sigh.

"So, Clara. What were you doing before you joined Gallifrey?" Amy asked, in a tone she considered decent.

Clara glanced up at the other woman, cautiously. "I was looking after two kids for a family friend. Their mother died and, well, it wasn't easy on them. They needed some help." She took a long sip of wine, and hurried the conversation along. "What about you? What do you do?"

The Doctor was back, giving everyone their food. Amy waited to see if he was listening before answering. Her heart was pounding against her chest, her hands slightly shaking. "Actually, I've got a new job. We've been meaning to tell you, Doctor."

Rory dropped his fork. "Now, Amy? _Now_?"

This hadn't been exactly how she planned to say this tonight. Then again, if she wanted to break the news exactly how they planned, they would've told him ages ago. How was she supposed to answer Clara's question without breaking the news? She could always lie and then tell the truth later. But what was the point in that?

There was no turning back now. She had to say it.

The Doctor was staring at her, almost warily, as if he was expecting something bad. Amy reached across the table and took his hand, gripping it as tightly as she could.

"You have a new job? What happened to modelling?"

"I found something better. Something I'm really good at." Amy shook her head; she couldn't look at him anymore. "I got a publishing contract. It's an American publisher. They're located in New York, to be exact."

"But that's amazing!" The Doctor exclaimed. But neither Amy nor Rory were smiling, and that made his smile drop too. "At least, I think it's amazing. What's wrong?"

Amy looked to Rory, unable to say the words. Rory leaned closer into the table, and said, "The thing is, Doctor, they want us to move closer to New York so that they can work with Amy. That means we have to move."

"To New York," Amy finished.

Clara froze in her seat, wine glass in hand, staring at the space in between Amy and John. Suddenly, she didn't know what to do with her hands or her glass or even herself – she really shouldn't be here, this was supposed to be between them. She felt completely out of place. Discretely, she diverted her gaze to the floor and pretended to not be there.

The silence was louder than anything either of them could've said.

"You're moving… to New York," the Doctor stated. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his mouth slightly hanging open. "Forever?"

"That's the plan, yeah," Rory said slowly.

"We tried to tell you," Amy put in. "Months ago. Rory's even got a job as a nurse over there. We just couldn't get it out. I didn't want – we didn't know –"

The Doctor's hand slid across his chin. "When?" he demanded.

"Next week, or the week after, if everything goes to plan. But you an always visit. Whenever you want – we'll even pay for your flights."

He kept his gaze fixed onto the pork and watched as the gentle steam rose into the air, far away from the plate. At the same time he felt his lip wobble, he also felt a small hand rest on top of his knee. He looked to the side, just briefly, to see Clara looking at the floor, her hand outstretched to him. His lip regained its composure, and he placed his free hand over Clara's, pressed to his knee.

"We're sorry, Doctor."

"No," he said, firmly. "No, don't be. I'm happy for you, I really am. I just wish you had told me sooner."

There was another long silence as loud as the first. The Doctor cleared his throat, and said in a pitch too cheery, "No one's tried my pork yet! I slaved over it for hours, and that's the thanks I get?"

Everyone ate in quiet conversation – the topic light and trivial and far away from anything important, or anything they needed to discuss. Clara had lost her appetite for conversation, as well as some of her hunger. The roasted pork was cold now, but she knew it would've been beautiful only a few moments ago. It was amazing how quickly things could turn sour. She kept a close eye on the Doctor, her heart figuratively breaking for him.

There was an unanimous decision that dessert wasn't needed. The chocolate fudge cake and ice cream went uneaten.

At the end of the night, the Doctor left Amy and Rory to the door while Clara helped to clear up some of the dishes. He lingered with them for a while, before bursting out, "You'll tell me before you leave, won't you? So I can be there."

Amy smiled. She was almost teary – almost. "Of course we will, Doctor. Promise."

The Doctor hugged both of them – held them tight without wanting to let go in case they suddenly disappeared altogether. He felt his tough exterior slowly cracking as he waved them goodbye, as if it was for the last time. The last time he stood at the door with them, they were his oldest friends, and now they were going to be shadows of his former life. Just some people that he used to know, because, despite how everyone contradicted it, when people move away they also move on. Connections were lost through time.

He wasn't aware of how he slumped onto the kitchen chair or when he had started crying. His face crumpled into his hands and his tears leaked through his fingers, landing with small splats onto table surface. It all built up – all of his insecurities, all of his fears, all of his loneliness reached an unbearable peak. His heart cracked; he couldn't handle all of the suppressed emotions anymore. He was destined to me alone. Miserable and alone. Even his two oldest friends, who had been there with him through most things, were leaving his life. Shuddering gasps shook his entire body as he slowly broke down from the inside. All of those months when he thought he was content in his own company, all of those times when he sat alone and wondered why Amy and Rory weren't spending as much time with him – it was all rising to the surface, all at once, like a iron fist punching his face.

Clara spun around when she heard the first shuddering gasp. The wet wine glass slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor, shattering into a billion tiny pieces. John took no notice. She rushed to his side as soon as her legs would let her. She hugged his back, brushed away his hair to get a better look at his face, and gently placed her hands on top of his own, which were still masking his tears.

This wasn't a man who was crying over his two best friends moving away. This was a man who had tolerated too much pain and loss and couldn't take any more.

She'd seen it before in her father.

"John, John –"

"I'm so lonely, Clara," he muttered into his hands so the sound was muffled. His whole back shook as he sobbed harder. "_I'm so lonely_."

A pang of sorrow passed through Clara's chest. She felt tears in her own eyes. Softly, she trailed a soothing pattern across his back and attempted to push away his hands so she could look at him. "Listen, John, you're not lonely. Okay?"

He looked up at her, his hazel green eyes wide and watery, searching her warm brown.

She reached out and held onto his head, hugged it, pushing his soaked cheek against her shoulder. "You have me, John. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

There was a moment where neither of them moved. Then, very slowly, John raised his shaky arms and wrapped them around Clara's waist, pulling her closer. Clara held onto him, her own eyes glazed with tears as she rested her head against John's chest. She closed her eyes, prepared to wait out his crying. She wasn't going anywhere tonight – not with him in this state. She'd stay and make sure he was okay.

Sometimes, you don't need words. Sometimes there isn't any form of communication than can heal the scar or ease the sorrow. Sometimes, all you needed is a silent, understanding person who is patient enough to lend their company instead of their wisdom. After all, it wasn't advice John needed right now – or ever. It was company.


	13. Heart over Head

** A/N: This is going to be quite a long note – I just wanted to say how touched I am at so many people saying they can relate to some of the feelings and topics expressed in this story. I love writing things that people can relate to, and that really evokes emotion. Everything written and analysed (I swear I could write an essay on this review) in Foeseeker's wonderful review will be covered in depth in this story – especially the bit about the opposition of Skaro and their master plan. I realise everything is quite vague at the moment, but I want to build it up gradually and let the suspense take hold. A massive thank you and group hugs to the reviewers from last chapter: Guest, Sahara, xandrota, ImpossibleClara9, Foeseeker, sasswriterchick, allthingsfangirldreams, Yugicanbesexy, Guest, Pacjr13, Dede42, BloodLily16, Dragongirl628 (River isn't supposed to be a big part in this story, but you will find out eventually!), OhMyStarsShiz and Guest. If I missed anyone, sorry! As for the next update, if I'm being realistic, it will probably be Tuesday. St. Patrick's Day is on Monday and since I'm from Ireland/the British part of Ireland/UK (it's very complicated), we get two days off university so we can celebrate. Once again, thank you to everyone who reads/reviews, it means a lot and please keep at it! There's a hint at why this story is called what it is in this chapter, see if you can spot it. Enjoy!**

** Chapter Thirteen: Heart over Head**

It was an hour before the Doctor fully calmed down. It was dark outside the window, the sun fully set on the horizon and the stars just starting to emerge from the deep darkness of the night. The Doctor was wiping away his own tears now, Clara sitting beside him and patiently waiting. She could tell that he was embarrassed, and she couldn't really blame him. If it was the other way around, Clara would feel a little bit embarrassed breaking down in front of him as well. But that wasn't the reason why she stayed quiet and waited for him to say something first, she just didn't know what to say. In all honesty, she didn't have a clue what to say to him. This once, words had escaped her. She didn't want to ask the obvious, because it was clear he wasn't okay. She didn't want to patronise him. So, she waited for him to break the silence and she would latch onto his thread of conversation with every last bit of energy she had left.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"No," she interrupted, placing her hand on his arm. "Don't apologise. I understand. It's okay to wobble now and again."

He gave a sad smile and looked at her, sideways, almost shyly. "I can't imagine you having a wobble. I think you're one of the strongest people I've ever known."

"Nah, not really. I'm just better at hiding it."

They stared at one another for a few long seconds, each thinking differently of the other. Clara flicked her fringe from out of her eyes and took both of the Doctor's hands in her own. "What do you say we grab the chocolate fudge cake and ice cream, sit in the living room with a few snuggly blankets and watch a good movie?"

"Do you not want to get home? I don't want to keep you."

But this was what Clara was good at. She excelled in helping people and making anyone she could happy again. It made her happy to make other's happy, and she was determined not to go anywhere until the Doctor realised that he was not alone.

"No, no. I'll stay."

Clara texted Nina to tell her where she was so that her best friend wouldn't worry. John warmed up the chocolate fudge cake and prepared the ice cream while he directed Clara where to find the blankets in his room. They sat beside each other on the plush sofa, up close but respectively apart. It was around two hours later, when the cake was finished long ago and the movie titles were rolling across the screen that John and Clara had fallen asleep next to one another – Clara's head leaning against his chest and John's loose arm holding her protectively, his head drooped across the back of the sofa.

* * *

It was Monday morning when Clara realised something wasn't quite right with John.

She thought after their shared comfort a few nights previously that it would bring them closer, but in fact, it seemed that John was drifting further away.

He didn't call her into his office for their usual cup of tea in the morning, but Clara put that down to his busy schedule. He didn't join Clara and Rose for lunch, or for Jack's visit to their office to see if Strax had finished the new report. John didn't leave his office at all. The only time she saw him that day was when he gave her a lift home, and Clara was more than a little glad to finally see him.

Until she realised he wasn't talkative at all. He was distant, faded, not really there. Only half-listening to her attempted conversation, and when she didn't talk, he didn't attempt to make any conversation. Clara was immediately put on alert; something was wrong, or something wasn't quite right. She decided to let it go for today and see if it persisted.

His silence continued all week. He avoided her for four days.

Clara was irritated. Well and truly annoyed. She hadn't done anything, had she? Was it something she said, something she'd done? Was this the thanks she got for being there for him? Her silent anger was bubbling in her stomach as his continued and stretched out silence lasted until Friday. It was on Thursday Clara decided to stop with her attempted conversation, and they sat in awkward and bristling silence all the way home on Thursday evening. Why should she be the one to make all the effort? He obviously didn't want to talk to her.

When Clara thought about it, she wanted to cry. She thought she'd found a friend in John. Had she gotten too close to him, and now he realised that he actually didn't like her after all? She started to think she was too eager to comfort him, maybe she was looking needy, maybe he wished _she_ was leaving to New York and not Amy and Rory.

Clara liked to think she was emotionally strong – tough in the face of strong emotions. She didn't let them cloud her. The fact that John had squirmed his way into her life and won her over so quickly, and now was so cold and hard and unlike his usual self – to the point Clara wanted to cry over it, just doubled her anger. She wasn't going to cry over this man. He could've just explained to her why he was acting like this instead of shoving her off until he hoped she'd finally get the message and go away. Leave him. Leave him to be alone.

Maybe that was what he wanted?

The confusion and hurt was slowly stirring into an overwhelming, burning aggravation, and when John finally emerged from his office on Friday evening to offer her a lift home, Clara's emotions came to a peak.

"No," she snapped, zipping her bag shut so harshly that it caught on her finger. She hissed as it started to bleed, fuelling her fury even more. "I don't want a lift. I can make my own way home, thank you. I don't need to rely on anyone."

And with that, she stormed out ahead of him, angry tears leaking from her eyes.

Clara felt humiliated by him. John had drawn her into his life; she'd told him her personal story slowly over the short time of their friendship, just so he could spit her out when he felt like he didn't want her anymore.

But it didn't make sense! Clara couldn't understand how loving, caring John could turn cold so quickly. She was a good judge of character, and she thought she had him figured out long ago. Now it was thrown back into her face.

It was when Clara was wiping her angry tears from her eyes while wrapping a stray tissue around her cut finger that Vastra bumped into her. The tall woman peered down at her, curiously, reaching out an arm to steady her. Clara didn't realise she was shaking.

"Clara, dear, are you alright?"

"Fine," she murmured, her anger quickly draining away, being replaced by a slow sadness. "I'm fine, thanks Vastra."

"You are quite clearly not fine," the woman argued. Her tone was firm but her eyes were kind. "Where's John? Does he not usually drive you home?"

Clara bit her tongue. She was hard to read when she wanted to be, but it seemed when it came to the man in question, everyone could see through her. Especially Vastra.

"Ah," Vastra said, hushed. "I see. The problem seems to lie in John." She paused, placing her hand on Clara's back and guiding her along the corridor. "I'll drive you home, Clara. Jenny is waiting for me in the car. It would be no trouble."

When she was about to protest out of politeness, Vastra pressed a delicate index finger against Clara's lips. "Ah, no objections. I wouldn't feel right letting you wander home on your own."

It seemed no one could believe Clara's own independence.

Clara followed Vastra, feeling a little uncomfortable in the boss of her boss's shadow. They walked in silence to the car park, and when they reached the car, Vastra graciously held open the door for Clara. She muttered a quick thanks and slid inside, with Vastra sitting in the front beside Jenny. When Jenny asked, Clara gave her the directions to her apartment, and they set off in silence.

"So, Clara," started Jenny at the steering wheel. "How are you and John getting along?"

"Good," she answered quickly. Then, upon consideration, added in a mutter, "Well, we _were_."

"What's wrong, dear?" Vastra enquired.

Clara was cautious. She wasn't sure if she should say anything or not. Would it really help anything, telling Vastra and Jenny? But there was a large, secret, part of her that wondered if John wasn't actually okay, and they could help her with that, couldn't they? If he wouldn't take to her, maybe he would talk to them.

"He's been ignoring me all week," she explained, talking quickly, so not to linger on the words and implications. "Just suddenly. We were fine – we were more than fine, we were good – and then this week there has been… nothing. Not a single conversation."

It didn't escape Clara's notice that Jenny and Vastra shared a brief but meaningful glance to one another.

There was another pause.

"Clara," Vastra started, turning around in her chair to look at her. "I've known John for a very long time. What you have to understand about him is that he tends to push people away when he's upset. He doesn't like to show he's hurting. He becomes defensive very quickly."

"But he –" Clara cut herself off. She didn't want to get into the situation with Amy and Rory, and how the Doctor broke down in front of her. She felt like that was private between them. With this in mind, Vastra wasn't making Clara feel any better – if John was usually quite private with his emotions, but he had shown them in front of her, he was obviously not talking to her for a different reason. One Vastra hadn't seen in him yet.

Clara sighed.

It seemed Vastra wasn't done. "I have a feeling what this is about. Amy Pond contacted me on Friday to let me know she and her husband were leaving to New York. She said she wasn't sure how the Doctor would react to this, so she made me promise I would keep an eye out for him." Vastra paused, smiling. "What she didn't know was I've been looking out for John all along."

Clara frowned, her eyebrows pulling together.

"I know a lonely man when I see one, Clara," she finished.

It took Clara a moment or two to catch on to what Vastra was hinting at, but when she did, her eyes grew wide and she let out a little gasp. "Wait, Vastra, why did I get this job?"

"The job you applied to was for a place on a researching team for this year's election. A temporary position, nothing guaranteed. After the interview, the job you got was John's personal researcher. Permanently."

Clara gaped – she wasn't sure whether to be annoyed, angry or embarrassed. "You set us up!"

It made sense. On Clara's fist day; Rose giving her a cheeky little smile, everyone in the office knowing her name, even the office – it wasn't a mixture of people from different departments by accident, it was on purpose. It was supposed to be like that, they just wanted to move Clara in with John. Vastra wasn't only leader of Gallifrey; she was the party's ultimate matchmaker.

Clara started to wonder what kind of politics they were working with here.

"Don't misunderstand me, Clara. You won a position on Gallifrey by being the better candidate. It came to a choice between you and a man called Craig Owens." Vastra looked away, as if she was guilty. "Overall, you were the better candidate. Lack of experience, but definitely the better person for our team. Then, when I thought about it, I realised you'd be quite a match for John. He was so lonely, and the worst part was, he didn't even know it. I thought you two would work together in harmony, and maybe, just maybe, give John a new person in his life."

Jenny, rather quietly, added, "You can't say she was wrong."

Clara bit her lip. She felt a little bit of the pressure in side of her lift when Vastra said she won the job fairly. All her boss had really done was change the position of her job because she thought she would be good company for John. At the minute, Clara didn't know what to make of that.

Jenny had parked outside Clara's apartment block. Clara stared at both of them for a few long seconds before thanking them, although for what, she wasn't quite sure. When she slid out of the backseat, they waited until she was safely through the doors of the building before starting up the engine again.

"I know that face," said Jenny, as soon as they were alone. "That's a very serious face."

Vastra smirked. "I think I may just pay John Docherty a surprise visit tomorrow."

* * *

It was exactly at twelve noon, midday, when the sun was highest in the sky, that Vastra came knocking on John's blue apartment door.

She saw him look through the peephole before putting his hand on the doorknob. Vastra was alert to these sorts of things. His hair was messy when he finally decided to open the door, and he was wearing loose-fitting trousers and a plain white top. He didn't need to invite her in – they were long past that stage of friendship. Vastra pushed on through, whether he was about to protest or not and made her way into the kitchen. Plates were piled into the sink, abandoned, but the place wasn't a complete mess. Just not organised, like his usual self. John's workplace may be messy, but when it came to his private home, he wasn't anything but precise.

"I wasn't expecting company," John muttered, hovering at the kitchen table before sitting opposite Vastra.

"I know," Vastra said firmly.

John almost flinched. "What makes me think this isn't work related _or_ a friendly visit?"

"Perhaps because you already know why I'm here." She paused, eyeing him carefully. He didn't react. "Do you?"

It took him a long time to respond. He seemed to be struggling with words, tasting them before saying them, weighing up their value. "No," he said.

Vastra sighed, almost angrily. She leaned across the table; hands clasped together and shot him a piercing look, straight in his eyes. She let him stew for a moment or two, so he could see how serious she intended to be, before breaking the silence. "Why have you been ignoring Miss Clara?" she demanded, in something between a hiss and a snap.

The Doctor's head immediately flopped into his hands. She gave him a few long seconds, but he failed to respond.

"Doctor, listen, Amy rang me up last Friday and –"

"No, it's not about Amy and Rory," he interrupted, still talking into his hand. "Not really."

Vastra frowned. She blinked a few times, not allowing herself to admit she was a little bit confused by this. "Then why was Miss Clara crying when she left your office on Friday evening?"

That made him look up from his hands. "What?"

"I think you heard me."

He raked his hands over his eyes. "I don't want Clara crying. That's not what I want."

Silence fell between them. The Doctor stared off into space, this new piece of information swelling in his stomach, like an unbelievable pressure on his shoulders. Vastra, waited, patiently. He knew he would snap soon. If Clara meant anything to him, the Doctor would admit why he was treating this way. He'd confided in Vastra before, about most things, this should be no different.

Vastra was right.

"I'm afraid of losing her," he burst out, like a cork popping from a wine bottle. Once he started he couldn't stop. "Amy and Rory leaving… I've known them so long, and it just made me think. No one is around forever. No one. It just hurts – the more people you have in your life – one day each and every one of them is going to hurt you in some way. I've had it all my life, Vastra. I can't take it anymore. I can _feel_ Clara starting to mean something to me, and it's scary. She'll leave eventually, like Amy and Rory, and I don't want to feel that. I don't think I can."

Letting out a loose sigh, Vastra grabbed the Doctor's hand and held it against the table, forcing him to meet her stare. "Clara's not going anywhere, Doctor. I promise you that."

The Doctor's eyes were wide, beseeching. "How do you know that?"

"I think you mean more to her than she even knows. I could see it in her." Vastra paused and tapped his hand lightly. "What are you going to do anyway? Live your life pushing everyone away and never be happy? What did Lord Tennyson say?"

"_Tis better to have love and lost/than to never have loved at all_," the Doctor quoted from memory, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"I think that's your answer, don't you?"

Vastra stole away her hand and got to her feet. John glanced up at her, a bit urgent, and when he was about to ask her to stay, Vastra held up her hand to silence him.

"This is entirely up to you, Doctor. I can't answer it for you." Vastra gave him a gracious smile. "In my opinion, it's an easy option. I can only suggest you mull it over by Monday and then make your decision."

He nodded, rubbing his chin furiously, his eyes now shaded with confusion. "Thank you, Vastra."

As Vastra turned her back on him, she rolled her eyes. She let herself out of his apartment and when she clicked the door shut behind her, she took a moment to smirk to herself. _Fool_, she muttered as she walked back to the car, utterly daunted at how such an intelligent man couldn't see what was right in front of him.


	14. Giving In

** A/N: Finished this last night and I thought, what the hell! Upload it a day early. Before reading this chapter, please remember that all of this is very unlikely to ever happen in British Politics. It's exaggerated because it needs to be to fit into the world of Doctor Who, and in real life, I doubt Simeon would be able to get away with anything that is going on in this story. (Most of which isn't actually revealed yet – that's coming up next) I think this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, I certainly have! A lot of big revelations, on both sides. I don't have enough time to mention reviewers since I'm going out for St. Patrick's Day very soon, really sorry about that. Enjoy!**

** Chapter Fourteen: Giving In**

When Clara arrived to work on Monday morning, Donna was apparently happy to see her. _Well, at least one person is_, she muttered to herself, her mind wandering to John. Donna embraced her, asked how she was, and then the real reason for her cheeriness was revealed.

"Clara, could you do me a favour?" Donna asked, taking hold of her friend's hands and squeezing them lightly. "Over in the main building – I left a pile of research papers I printed out for Rose and Martha, could you get them for me and give it to them? It's just I have to do this message for Ronald and I don't have ti –"

"No, that's fine," Clara said. "Where did you leave them?"

"Printer Two, in the meeting rooms on the second floor, the one on the left, just around the corner," Donna explained at a mile a minute.

Clara blinked. She was sure to forget that. She didn't have the best sense of direction. "Could you inform John of where I am?"

Donna agreed, and then Clara set off on her long track across the courtyard. It was a misty day, quite foggy, so Clara had to squint to make out the main Executive building. She briefly asked for directions from the security guard who asked her for I.D. and he repeated Donna's instructions but at a much slower pace. She took the stairs instead of the lift so as to not bump into anyone unexpected – she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be stuck in a lift with some of the opposition, Walter Simeon or Harold Saxon in particular.

Clara was a little out of breath when she reached the right floor after taking a few wrong turns. The corridor was pure marble and each footstep echoed like ten down the length of it. Clara decided to tread as lightly as she could so as not to disrupt the loud meeting taking place in one of the rooms.

When Clara turned the corner, away from the meeting room, she heard someone bellow at the top of their lungs from behind the door. She stopped in her tracks, a little shocked and overheard the familiar voice she couldn't quite place responding:

"Yes, and our way of doing that is by using Docherty!"

Clara froze. Docherty? Did they mean John Docherty, as in, _her_ John Docherty? She paused to listen further.

"How? Won't that be obvious? We've already told them to spin it against Vastra, the public will –"

"Not notice a thing. Our plan has already worked to a staggering degree. The only person who can win it for Gallifrey now is John Docherty. Something has to be done."

Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that it was vibrating in her ears, but yet, Clara took a few steps closer, back against the wall and peered through the small keyhole to catch a glimpse of the people inside the room. She could see Simeon sitting on a chair, Harold standing next to the window and a man with his back to the door who looked suspiciously like Davros Dalek. Clara slid to the ground, ear practically pressed to the wood as she dared to listen to their conversation.

"But _what_?" Davros asked. "We've convinced the public that Vastra is a capitalist disguised as a socialist. What could we use against the Doctor?"

"Have you no faith in me?" Simeon inquired, his tone light and humorous. "I've had this all planned since the beginning of the business."

Davros studied him a moment, adding him up, before he laughed. "Go on."

Clara could faintly see Simeon lean across the table, fingers interlaced and eyes practically glowing with enthusiasm. "I've already investigated John Docherty's background. I've been intercepting any letters concerning him for the past few months. We paint a picture of him being a businessman, first and foremost, and then gradually trickle ideas into the media that he's only in the realm of politics for self-gain. We make the public fear that this man will increase taxes, privatise business and manipulate transactions between consumers to make himself rich. We tear his name down anyway we can." He stopped, obviously impressed with himself and then shrugged. "Should be easy with the media under our wing."

"So we basically accuse him of everything we're actually doing," put in Saxon.

Smirking, Simeon sat back in his seat, nose raised in the air. "If we shift the blame on to someone else, and condemn him, it takes the scent away from us. No matter what way you look at it, we win. And that's the most important thing, after all."

Davros had walked over to Simeon. He clapped his partner on the back without even attempting to hide his glee. "I think that's a good idea, I must say, Walter. He _is_ the only person remaining who can damage us."

Simeon clapped his hands. "That's agreed, then." He paused to peer over to the third man in the room. "Do you have anything to add, Harry?"

"I know a few secrets about the Doctor I'm willing to share. We can twist them in our favour," Saxon said, out of view from Clara.

There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

"Excellent. We'll put some things down today and prepare for the assembly tomorrow. Shall we?"

Clara jumped back and scrambled to stand. Her adrenaline mounted an all-time high as she ran as quietly as she could around the corner and into the second meeting room. She closed the door behind her just in time for Simeon, Davros and Saxon to emerge from their own room. She waited, back pressed against the oaken door; breathing heavily and listening to the sound of their footsteps slowly fade away.

Clara didn't know what to do. As soon as she felt that it was safe, she paced up and down the length of the meeting room, one hand grasping her hair and the other lifting up and down through thin air, clutching it, as if it was going to clear her mind. It was just too much to take in – she wasn't sure whether she should be feeling scared or concerned, and at the moment she was stuck in between, bound together with an overwhelming sense of urgency. John. She needed to tell John. Would he believe her? What would he say?

But this wasn't helping anyone. She stopped pacing, let her head fall against her palms and took a few deep breaths. Calm. She needed to be calm. Clear-headed and careful. One wrong move and who knows what would happen. It had only been a minute – if even a minute – since she had heard it all and already the pressure of this huge secret was threatening to explode from underneath her very skin.

Right. She had to think. What was she going to do? Tell John. Tell him everything. They could both take it from there, decide what to do together – maybe go to Vastra for help, Jenny, Rose, anyone who could assist them with this. She ran through the exact words Simeon had said in her mind a few times before bursting out of the office, completely forgetting to collect the printed pages that Donna needed. She practically ran down the stairs, out through the grand double doors and across the misty, foggy courtyard. She wouldn't feel safe, or rest, until she was with John and telling him everything. Oh _god_, what were they going to do?

She didn't bother knocking when entering John's office, she ran straight through. John jumped, his floppy hair dangling in his eyes as he attempted to stand from his chair, his arms reaching out at the same time to grab Clara by the shoulders. But Clara was frantic, urgent and she stepped away from him by instinct, unsure of how to begin.

"Clara! I was planning on talking to you today, but I" – he stops midsentence, as he slowly realises that something isn't quite right – "Clara? Clara, what's wrong? What happened?"

Clara shook her head. She grabbed onto John's forearm, unsure whether it was for comfort or to steady herself. "I was in the main building. I overheard a conversation with Simeon, Davros and Saxon – I know I shouldn't have listened, but I'm so glad I did now. They were talking about you, John. They're plotting against you. It's some sort of great conspiracy – they're going to ruin your media image, they said something about –"

"Wow, wow, take it easy," John whispered, both of his hands holding Clara's head. He was worried. A little scared. She could see it all playing in front of her in the reflection of his eyes. "Clara, calm down. Tell me what happened."

He guided her over to the office sofa, once again brushing away pages so they could sit down together. He let Clara take a few moments to calm her breathing, each second ticking extra slowly on the clock, each second ebbing away his confidence.

"Donna sent me to get some research papers in the one of the main meeting rooms. As I walked past one which was in use, I overheard the end of Simeon's conversation to Harold Saxon and Davros Dalek. They said you were the only hope for Gallifrey now. They said they intend to take you down slowly, turn the media against you. Simeon said something about already having the media on their side. Then, they said something about you're the only person who can _damage_ them, but I don't know what that means."

John rubbed his eyes with his right hand. He kept his head bowed as he listened and refused to look at Clara when she had finished. He wasn't sure what he would find there, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. But then he felt her hand slither on top of his own, and he felt her warmth chase away any of his insecurities.

"John. Say something."

He had so many questions concerning so many things. Yet, there was only one thing that he _really_ wanted to say to her.

Never the right time.

"Simeon… said this?" John asked for confirmation, despite understanding it perfectly well. "What else did they say?"

Clara sighed. "Saxon said that he knew some of your secrets. He could twist them in _their_ favour. But why, John? Why would they do that?"

He shook his head, firmly. He grabbed her other hand and placed it on top of the one he was already holding. Bracing himself, he met her wary gaze, nothing but determined. "I don't want you getting involved, Clara. Believe me, Simeon's lot are a dangerous crowd. This is for me to deal with and me alone. Okay?"

Clara's eyebrows pulled together. She could see all the hurt on his face, the trepidation. But no, she wasn't going to be told to stay out of this. She was his personal researcher. More importantly, despite the last few days, she considered herself to be his friend. She wanted to mean something in his life. He couldn't keep pushing everyone away.

"No, John. I'm not letting you. I'm helping, okay? I want to know, I want to help."

His green hazel eyes shimmered in the bluish tint of the office and his lips quivered. He was asking a silent question.

Clara smiled. "I'm here to stay. I promise."

He'd planned to do it all along. Ever since Clara Oswald was introduced to him what felt like months ago, when he'd made a fool of himself tangled in computer wires, he knew that one day he would do it. One day he would gather up the courage, as if it were an instinct from deep within him. The outcome would always be uncertain, as it tended to be in matters of the heart, matters of the mind or matters of the soul. Perhaps it was fearful uncertainty of putting your feelings on the brink of extreme happiness or absolute rejection which made the act so wonderfully gratifying, yet terrifying at the same time. Such a commitment was full of sweet innocence that the darkest colour in the world couldn't taint it.

First, he lightly brushed his thumb over her cheek and lost himself in the golden warmth of her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted as he slowly closed the gap between them, feeling the tingle of nerves contrasting with the sharpness of anticipation pouring down his spine. His hand moved to her hair as his soft lips met hers. It was like a spark of electricity erupted between them.

The Doctor may have initiated the kiss, but Clara strengthened it. She increased the pressure, moving one of her hands to the back of his neck, tickling the silky strands of his hair, and the other gripping his shoulder, pulling him closer. The Doctor came alive under her touch. He stroked her arm as his palm rested on her cheek and gently parted her lips with his own. His mind was a muddle, preoccupied with nothing that was not Clara. This feeling intensified when Clara brought both of her lips to focus on his bottom lip, softly tugging on it, tasting it, flicking her tongue across it. Repressing a moan, the Doctor quickened his pace, which Clara maintained, almost challenging him to go further. His tongue made its way in to her mouth, and with exaggerating slowness he stroked it against hers, once around and once back again.

But their pace was gradually slowing, as if they both suddenly realised, with a jolt, what they were doing. Neither wanted to break away first. Clara's whole body was tingling, her cheeks felt uncharacteristically blushed and her mind was strangely quiet, peaceful, as if this was all she ever needed to make all of her worries disappear into nothing.

It wasn't just a kiss – it was a confession. It was what neither of them could say, what neither of them really wanted to say in case they got hurt. It was giving into raw emotion rather than thinking logically, deciding with your heart and not your head.

Most importantly, it was what both of them needed.

Their lips stayed locked together for a few more seconds, before Clara finally decided to pull away. She regretted it as soon as she did. Suddenly her heart felt only half full, and her lips felt the need for his sweet pressure to fill them again. He was staring at her, smiling, his thumb brushing across her cheek once again, as if he was celebrating some small victory.

Clara couldn't help but smirk. "Doctor, what was that?"

He beamed, the little lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. It made him look younger. "That was me. Giving in." He paused, dropped his hands and emitted a gentle sigh. "What did it mean to you?"

"It meant…" She was scared, if she was being honest with herself. With everything going on, she was confused and a little bit scared of what was going to happen next but this – this felt _right_. "I was giving in, too."

Almost questioningly, as if he wasn't quite sure how she would react, he offered her a hug, his arms stretched wide, invitingly. She accepted, melting into his embrace, her cheek lightly pressed against his shoulder as his clumsy hand stroked her hair. "You called me _Doctor_," John said, and she knew he was smiling. "You haven't called me that before."

Clara didn't need to say why she said it. In all honest truth, it had slipped out. She'd been so preoccupied, almost worried, as to what she should call him all this time– was it too soon to use his nickname? Was that pushing a boundary she shouldn't cross yet? But now it seemed so simple. He'd always been the Doctor, since the day they met. He made people better without asking for anything in return. _Well_, Clara said to herself, _that's where I come in._

Despite her buzzing elation, Clara still had concerns. She was torn between starting the conversation that both of them wanted right now – what were they now? Where did that kiss leave them? – but both of them knew there were much more serious, pressing issues to discuss.

"I think it's time I told you the full story, Clara. Everything I know, anyway." John said against her shoulder, his eyes squeezed tight. "It's about time I told someone."


	15. The Investigator

** A/N: This was supposed to be longer but unfortunately, I've taken sick and I can't write when I'm sick. Nothing seems to make sense when I write while feeling ill but I wanted to upload something today. I will make it up to you all next chapter, promise. Next time you can expect to see some heated arguments between John and Simeon, secrets and spies and maybe even a little disagreement between John and Clara, because there's still more to John's story. Please review this terrible chapter; I know it's not the best but I love reading what you've all got to say. Big thanks to LionRawrr, Pacj13, ThePotterDoctor, Anon, Linesy, Yugicanbesexy, Emilh, Dede42, Foeseeker, Guest, remembermecleverboy, ImpossibleClara9, Guest, OhMyStarsShiz, BloodLily16 and Sahara (you're too kind).**

** Chapter Fifteen: The Investigator**

Clara offered to make the tea for once. She was glad for her hands to do something because maybe it would ease the shaking. Her mind was truly scattered, it seemed the only thing she could concentrate on was the feeling of John's lips against hers. The recent memory was creeping over her skin like the blazing sun after an evening of rain.

In the face of things, Clara told herself, it was really irrational to focus on her and John's relationship (and what kind of malfunctioning relationship was that? One moment they're closer than ever, the next they aren't talking and before they even know it – they're kissing!) when there were much bigger concerns to discuss. So, when the tea was ready and their cups were full, and they shared a long sweet glance during their first sip, John revealed the truth.

"I've known there was something dodgy going on with Simeon's lot for a long time," he confessed, his gaze unwavering.

Clara frowned. "How?"

"They asked me to join them."

It was as if someone had poured cold water down her back. She couldn't help but gape. "What?" Her voice turned into a self-conscious whisper. "They wanted you to join them? When was this?"

"About two years ago. I don't know how it happened, they didn't tell me, it could've been planned long before that." John sighed and pressed his palm to his chin. "By this time, Simeon already had Davros and Harold on his side. That was how Harold gained a high position in Skaro so quickly – he'd went into business with one of the main Cabinet Ministers. Harry suggested Simeon to contact me; he said I was useful. They could use me on their side. I was tricked into meeting up with them. They're surprisingly manipulative. You can imagine how shocked I was when I thought I was meeting up with one of our lawyers to find Simeon, Davros and Harold Saxon in the room instead."

Clara was completely absorbed in his story. She could see how uncomfortable he was, telling her all this, but she couldn't quite fathom why. It wasn't like she was going to judge him; she doubted that would ever happen, unless it was for good reason. "What happened?" she prompted.

"They told me the basic facts of what they were doing. Simeon had formed a partnership with Davros and Harold, some sort of three-way business deal by using the realm of politics to their advantage. Contacts, money, status – everything needed to make an impact. I declined, straight away. To be honest, I didn't think they would get anywhere with it. Two years later here we are and they're now favourites to win the election. Probably through threats and lies."

"But how come you didn't say this to anyone? Why are you only telling me this now?" Clara took another sip of tea while musing it over and trying to make sense of it. He had the perfect opportunity to tell her the second day they met, when she had told him to tell her about his history with Harold Saxon. She remembered his half-truths, his guilty little glances as he tried to avoid any deep questions, ones he couldn't answer. It made better sense now.

John almost flinched with the sudden realisation of what he had done. As he felt relief for finally opening up about this long term secret, simultaneously a wave of guilt swept him away as he stared into Clara's wide, beseeching eyes. They were so hopeful, so full of life and raw emotion. Had he just, willingly, put her life in danger?

"They threatened me, Clara," the Doctor said to her. He rested her hand on his knee to feel closer to her. "Simeon said if I told anyone, we would both be in for a _surprise_. Of course, at the time, I thought it was all petty threats. I didn't even think they'd get far in this business plan. But it always stayed in the back of my mind, and just to be safe, I told no one."

Clara nodded, slowly. This new piece of knowledge didn't scare her, or intimidate her for that matter. It may have affected John two years ago, enough for him to not tell anyone, but she liked to think she wasn't as easily manipulated. She wouldn't let Walter Simeon get away with unlawful antics just because he made hollow threats. He needed to be stopped – he needed to be exploited and shown to be the secret business man beneath the political exterior.

"You probably think I was stupid," John said, his delicate eyebrows pulled together. "But at the time, Clara, I really thought nothing of it. A part of me must've believed his threats, but other than that I didn't think he would succeed. Can you understand?"

She pressed one of her hands on top of his hand resting on her knee. "I understand, John. But I have a feeling this is going too far. Now, at least. What if Skaro do win the election? We don't know the extent of their plan; we don't know what they're going to do."

John stared through her a few moments before giving into a smile. "We have to do something. Definitely. We have to fix this."

He sat his tea on the floor and jumped to his feet, a burst of fleeting energy bursting through him like an electric shock. He searched through his file cabinet and then looked at his bookshelf, all the while muttering to himself. Clara watched, a little amused and a little curious as to what he was doing. His pure concentration stopped her from asking.

"Aha!" John shouted as he found a little folded piece of paper inside a particular book. "_This_ is what we need!"

"What is it?"

"A phone number of an old friend. A very old friend." The Doctor blinked a few times as he stared at it, a reminiscent gleam in his eye. "In fact, she reminds me of an older version of you."

Clara was a bit taken aback. She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not because she didn't know who he was talking about. "Wow," Clara joked. "She sounds amazing already."

"She is, she really is. She's called Sarah Jane Smith and if anyone can help us, Clara, it's Sarah Jane. Trust me."

"What does she do?"

The Doctor was beside her again, gulping down the rest of his tea. His hands wouldn't sit still and his fingers fumbled as he tried to extract his mobile phone from his pocket. He explained, "She's a journalist-slash-investigator. Anywhere with mystery and mayhem and you can guarantee Sarah Jane will be there."

"Wait, how do you know an _investigator_?"

"Family friend. She knows my granddad very well." He stopped to consider the situation for a moment. "What do you think? Should we give it a go?"

Clara smiled. "Yeah! She sounds exactly like the person we need."

She could tell the Doctor was nervous about asking a favour of a person who he had not spoken to in years. But this wasn't any old situation, the scale of things, this was pretty major. If they were going to investigate this by themselves, then they definitely needed some sort of external help – someone who knew what they were doing and wouldn't judge.

The phone call went well, from Clara's perspective. John briefly explained that Gallifrey was in a spot of trouble and no one knew about it apart from him and his companion (he struggled with what to call Clara, and ended up saying something along the lines of 'assistant – no, friend – maybe bit more than friend – ah, companion!') and he wanted to keep it that way, for now at least. They couldn't exploit Skaro without any evidence and only half of the real story.

Sarah Jane agreed, by the looks of it. John arranged for them both to meet her after work at a casual restaurant only a few minutes down the road. They were guaranteed not to be overheard there, according to Sarah Jane, because they could get a private booth.

"What do we do in the mean time?" Clara asked once John had hung up.

"Go back to work and pretend everything is normal," John suggested with a light shrug. "Nothing more we can do until tonight."

"Right." Clara gave a determined nod and stood up, ready to leave. She pierced him with her best incredulous stare and added, "Companion?"

It took him a second or two to remember what she was referring to. He blushed. "Oh! Oh. Well, I wanted to call you something else but I don't know… I'm not sure…"

Clara walked back over to him, her arms crossed over her chest. "What did you want to call me?"

"My girlfriend," he winced.

His eyes widened comically, as if he had just said something he really shouldn't.

Clara beamed. She lowered her head so that her hair swung in front of her face and he couldn't see how her shy smile and pink-toned cheeks. When she felt some of the heat fade from her face, she reached up on her tip-toes and pressed a soft, long kiss to his lips.

She pulled away to see the Doctor staring at her as if she was something alien, and there was some kind of trick to her response. "Can I then?" he almost stuttered.

Clara laughed at his child-like curiosity, almost like he was half-expecting her to run away from him at any moment. Quite frankly, it was endearing. But no, she told herself, she wasn't going to fall too fast and not be able to get up again. That was what happened in her last relationship, and she promised that it would never happen ever again.

"We'll see how things go," she said, with a smirk.

He watched as she left the office, and once she had closed the door behind her, John fell back onto the sofa, staring blankly at the wall, unable to believe that he had actually kissed Clara Oswald.

* * *

Sarah Jane was early, as usual, that evening. She greeted John with a huge warm hug and politely shook Clara's hand while asking who she was and what her connection was to the Doctor. Clara informed her that she has been working as the Doctor's personal researcher for the past month, nothing more nor any further explanation. It was only because they _were_ something more that Clara felt uneasy giving this description. Sarah Jane seemed to think nothing of it.

They ordered their drinks before slipping into easy conversation. Sarah Jane asked him how he was keeping and why it had taken so long for him to contact her before moving onto the reason why there were all here together.

When John had finished telling Sarah Jane everything he had already told Clara earlier in the day, Clara was slightly surprised at the question Sarah Jane asked. Not because it was relevant, because she was surprised she didn't ask it herself, earlier.

"Why you, Doctor? They could've asked anyone to join them in their business but they didn't. They asked you. Why?"

John shifted in his seat. He glanced from Sarah Jane to Clara and back to Sarah Jane. "You'd know better than anyone, Sarah Jane."

She studied him and nodded, as if she'd been expecting such an answer. "Ah, I thought so. Technology."

Clara knew she was the only person at the table missing something. "Technology?" she asked.

Turning to her, John said, "Clara, do you remember when you asked me what I would want to be if I wasn't a politician? And I said inventor?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You aren't actually an… inventor, are you?"

"He's amazing," Sarah Jane revealed.

The Doctor brushed off the compliment modestly. "It's just a hobby. But Harold knew I was good at it and Simeon must've thought it made me useful for their team."

"I think he would've preferred to be with you than against you," Sarah Jane conceded. "Hence the threat."

Clara nodded, this made sense. She made a mental note to ask him to show her some of his inventions the next time they were alone.

"But what do you want me to do, Doctor? How can I help?"

John already had this all planned out. "We need you to do some investigating. If we know the full extent of Simeon's plans then we can exploit him. Tell the truth. But we can't do that until we know everything that we're up against."

"I have a feeling this is going to be more dangerous than it sounds," she told him, truthfully. "But I'm in. You can count on me."


	16. Past Tense

**A/N: Since I was sick and couldn't write, I did something I've never done before and wrote a short description of all the remaining chapters, around three or four sentences long of what they'll be about and how they contribute to the plot. Chapter Twenty Five was described with one word (if everything goes to plan.) Make of that what you will. Thanks for all the reviews and best wishes, this chapter is pretty big! Can't wait to write next chapter, it mightn't (it won't) go how I've hinted. Please review, they mean a lot!**

** Chapter Sixteen: Past Tense**

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I want to see how he plays this. I'm curious about his tactics."

"John, this isn't just a – a football match we're talking about here. This isn't the Premier League. This is your life. Your career."

They both slowed to a stop a few metres outside the assembly chamber. John swept a hand through his hair, causing his quiff to stand up. He glanced from the open chamber to Clara and then down to the floor. It was the day after their meeting with Sarah Jane, and to be more precise, it was Assembly Day. Question Time. Another chance for Skaro to sell their twisted version of Gallifrey's words to the already biased media. This time John knew what he was in for since Clara had overheard the discussion between the leaders of Skaro the day previously. Clara was trying to convince him not to go, to make some excuse and avoid giving Simeon the chance. The Doctor was refusing. He wanted to see what it was exactly Simeon had up his sleeves.

"What can they use against me? They can't hurt me with anything, Clara."

She looked into his big sad eyes and knew exactly what he meant. He didn't have a family, so they couldn't hold that against him. He didn't have a wife, a partner, any other kind of relations through a separate job – all of his connections were reserved to politics only. Sighing, she took his hand and reached up to plant a small kiss to his lips while smoothing down his hair. "I'm worried, that's all," she admitted. "I don't want them upsetting you."

"There's only one way they can upset me, Clara, and I'd like to think they wouldn't stoop that low," he said, breaking eye contact. "And if they do, well, then we know how ruthless these guys are."

Clara didn't know what he meant by that. To avoid any questions, the Doctor leaned down to kiss her back and scurried away into the assembly chamber. Clara watched him go, a small frown on her face, before heading up to the viewing booth.

It was ten minutes before the meeting started. The cameras were on, all the MP's were sitting in their seats, and across the red lines on the carpet, Harold Saxon met John Docherty's gaze and gave him a sly wink.

Wilfred, the Speaker, started the proceedings with Gallifrey. Vastra gave a long but piercing piece to Davros on his plan to introduce a Bedroom Tax. It was very good, on all accounts, and in any other time it definitely would've had the news and media reeling with support. But John knew otherwise. Somehow, Simeon had bribed all of the main television channels to see their political ideologies, that much was clear from what Clara overheard yesterday. So, all what Vastra was saying was pointless and the only people who were really listening was everyone sitting in the chamber because no matter how persuasive and critical her argument against Davros was, Skaro was sure to make the headlines on the six o'clock news.

Now it was Skaro's turn. Simeon took to the box, leaning his right arm on the glossy wood and took his time to speak. "My question is for the Right Honourable gentleman, John Docherty, kind speaker."

The Doctor shuffled in his seat. This was it, there weren't any uncertainties now. Everything Clara had overheard was well and truly correct, not that he ever doubted her.

"In your recent promise to the people, Mr Docherty, you claim that you will spend an extra one million a year on the development of new technology and engineering because, and I quote, '_in recent years this area has been neglected in favour of more pressing concerns related to the falling economy, and it is time to step into the future by the means of advancement._' Am I correct?"

John stood up to his box. "You're correct, Mr Simeon, yes. Technology is the way forward for many healthcare facilities, schools, environment strategies –"

"So this has nothing to do with the private investment laid down by your parents twenty years previously?" Simeon pressed. His eyes were gleaming with a spark of hatred; his lips pulled up on one side into nothing more than a smug smirk. "For anyone who doesn't know, John Docherty's parents were engineers. They experimented with new concepts and meddled with abstract inventions. Rich Lords, practically drowning in money, and always looking for the new advancement in their technological sciences, going to almost any length to seek them out. Perhaps this is why the Docherty's parents went missing all those years ago – they meddled too far?"

Wilfred Mott was on his feet and leaning over his desk. The old man barked, "Mr Simeon, I must demand you to stop, this is out of –"

But Simeon continued, and raised his voice to speak over the Speaker. "Surely this has implications on your political agenda, John Docherty? I have reason to believe that this extra one million a year you speak of isn't going into the public sector. Oh no, it's going straight into your parents' investment so you can finish what they started! I think you intend to use your political position to your own advantage. Steal the tax payer's money for your personal gain. After all, you already used the status of your parents as Peers in the House of Lords to secure your own position in Gallifrey as an MP in the House of Commons!"

John's world was spinning out of control. His plan was to stay cool – he really intended to stay cool – but Simeon had stooped as low as he could get, and John had never expected him to go _that_ far. His hands gripped onto the wooden box, his palms sweaty and his knuckles white. His stomach was twisting was rage, burning with resentment. For the first time in his life he felt like leaping over the Common's table and punching Walter Simeon across the face until he pleaded with him to stop. Wilfred was shouting something, but it was all noise to the Doctor's ears.

"You, Walter Simeon, are trying to manipulate everything from my past to fit in with your attack on Gallifrey!" the Doctor shouted into the microphone so he could be heard. "Skaro are the ones in favour of business and economy, and Gallifrey are the ones in favour of the working class, the lesser privileged. So tell me why, Simeon, if I am what you say I am, why did I outright reject your offer for a position in your party two years ago when you offered it to me, hm?"

He shouldn't have said it. He'd disguised the truth with a political curtain – Simeon had offered him a partnership deal, not a position on Skaro. But John knew the implications behind his words, he knew that he was alerting Simeon to the fact he remembered the offer made two years ago and he wasn't afraid to talk about it anymore. He was implicitly telling Simeon that he knew what he was doing; he knew he was still working on that business plan and yes, John Docherty was the only one who could stop him.

This wasn't politics. Not anymore.

Through Simeon's calm exterior, John could see the twinkle of reluctance in his eyes. He was calculating John, summing up how much he guessed, reasoning about how far he should go. Calmly, Simeon explained into the microphone instead of talking directly to John;

"You know it would be much easier to get away with your misdoings in Gallifrey than it would in Skaro. I've already proven to the public and my party that the Right Honourable lady Vastra is intent on furthering the privatisation of businesses in the name of capitalism. No wonder you, John Docherty, were named Deputy. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what else this pair is keeping from their party – or the public?"

A loud echoing stomping and cheering erupted from the side of Skaro. Sneering, jeering, incomprehensible yells are fired in the direction of Gallifrey, each one like a steel bullet. Wilfred is calling for order but his commands were long since ignored.

Reeling, John shouted back, "Says the leader of the party intending to cap Welfare Benefits for the most vulnerable in our society in the name of –"

Simeon's voice overpowers him. He overpowers everything – the taunts of his leering party, the yells of Wilfred, the hissing and booing from Gallifrey. Somehow his voice magnifies over it all.

"Why else would Madame Vastra," Simeon shouts, smiling now, knowing he's won. His eyes lock onto John. "Why else would Madame Vastra hire John Docherty a personal researcher just before a coming election? To sort through his paperwork? He's been doing that on his own for years. I'm inclined to think she's not a personal researcher after all, but rather a personal _marketer_, helping John plan out his easy takeover of business and investment and expanding on his family's wealth at the expense of the tax payer!"

It was almost like he knew the impact of those words on John's heart. Not only had Simeon brought up his family, but he'd added Clara into the mix too. John watched impassively as Simeon sat back down on his seat, his party members patting him on the back and pouring him with compliments. Everything was a blur – from the whir of the cameras, to the cheers and boos clashing across both sides like rain hitting sunshine. John could feel his face pale, his hands start to shake. Simeon was playing a dirty game. One he wasn't sure he and Clara should get involved in, not anymore. Had this changed anything?

Simeon had literally stripped him bare for everyone to see. He'd twisted the image of his family; he'd tainted the relationship between him and Clara – even Vastra's reasons for hiring his personal assistant. Slowly, like drops of water falling from a leaking tap, John's emotionless stance was fading. A deep, throbbing pain pulsed in his chest, directly over his heart. What would his family say if they could see him now? What was Clara's reaction to this? The pain started to burn and flood to the pit of his stomach. Why should Simeon defeat him? He wasn't going to let Simeon get away this. No. This was war.

John was still standing when Wilfred dismissed the assembly. His mind was spinning out of control. People were around him, trying to console him, he could've sworn he heard Jenny and Jack shouting at Simeon as the cameras turned off and most of the MP's had left. He paid no attention to any of it.

Clara ran in through the doors, pushing past the last few MP's leaving in twos and threes, muttering between themselves. Davros sniggered at her as she made her way to John, to which she threw back her angriest glare. It wasn't until Clara took John's hand that he finally came to his senses. His face was still hard and his hands were still shaking, but through his rage he was able to move. His eyes softened as they rested on Clara.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, Simeon," snarled Vastra, far in the background.

"No," Simeon said, darkly, assuredly. "No, I'm winning."

"But this isn't a game, is it, Simeon?" added the Doctor, his hand gripping onto Clara as he finally met the man's stare. "This is _business_."

To everyone else apart from John and Clara, this sounded like a natural statement. But Simeon knew otherwise. His eyes darted from John to Clara before he gave a loud sniff and ignored them completely.

Simeon, Saxon and Davros left through the opposite double doors without another word. It was clear they were all bristling.

They weren't the only ones bristling. Quietly, right beside John, Clara was too.

It took John a few minutes to brush off the apologetic reassurances from his fellow party members. He didn't want to hear how it would all be okay, because he knew differently. As soon as he could, he dismissed himself and Clara, and they walked in silence back to his office.

As soon as his office door closed, Clara turned on him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

John was sitting on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands gripping his hair. "What?" he snapped.

"Why didn't you tell me the whole story about your family? That's pretty important, don't you think?"

He didn't look up at her. "I don't know. Never the right time?" he suggested tiredly. "You know now, don't you? Everybody knows."

Clara struggled for a moment. She watched him, arms crossed over her chest as she bit her lip. "You should've known they'd use that against you. I thought we were being honest with each other so we could fight anything they fire at us. Or have you forgotten?"

John looked up at her at that, his hair haphazard, his eyes narrowed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Stop with the secrets!"

"Secrets protect us! Secrets keep us safe," John shot back, getting to his feet now.

"We're not safe!" Clara retorted, stepping closer to him. "Look at what Simeon just said. He's attacking us both now! We're in this together."

"I know." He closed the gap between them, watching her level of anger before judging it was safe to gently caress her cheek with his thumb. "I _know_, and I'm sorry about that, Clara." He sighed and let his forehead drop so it was touching the top of her head. He pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug. He couldn't help but smile when she reluctantly responded. "But you've got no idea how I kind of love that and hate it at the same time."

They stood there, locked onto one another for a few long seconds. John gently guided her back to the sofa to sit with him. He held onto her hand (since when had he needed to hold Clara's hand to make him feel confident) and took a few deep breaths. She was right, of course, it annoyed him how she was always right. He should've told her and Sarah Jane yesterday that he had a feeling Simeon would bring up his family and their past. He'd already told Clara ages ago that his parents had disappeared. But that wasn't all too their story. Sarah Jane knew, but it was time he told Clara the truth.

"As you know, the House of Lords is made up of Peers, and to have a seat in the House of Lords, you have to be appointed by an official, pay your way in or inherit a seat."

"I know." Clara nodded.

"My parents both inherited seats in the House of Lords. They came from wealthy families who, way back when, were appointed a place in the House of Lords – before it relaxed its rules. As far back as both sides of my family could remember, they were involved in some way with politics. But my parents didn't want that. They met at university; two young engineers from political backgrounds, both keen to break free from their roots. Be something different. Break the barrier." John couldn't help but smile. "When they were older, they decided to keep their seats in the House of Lords and continue with their engineering. It's thought, however, that they were meddling with things they shouldn't – my granddad always said they were working on something for the government, a secret part of the government, and it backfired. They were targeted and, well…"

Clara stroked his hand held in both of her own. "Looks like you followed in their footsteps. Since you're a politician _and_ dabble in inventing."

It was the perfect time for his office phone to ring and interrupt their conversation. John rushed to grab it, shoving off the handset and quickly pressing down on the speaker button. He looked like he'd been expecting the phone call, and for a moment Clara was a little cautious until –

"Doctor? I've found something."

It was Sarah Jane. John carried the handset over to the sofa so he could sit it on his knees beside Clara. He smiled. "Sarah Jane! What have you got for us?"

"Is Clara there?"

Clara waved, despite the face she was talking to a phone. "Hello!"

"Good, hello Clara! I had a look this morning at what you were saying yesterday – Mr Smith found a few interesting things." Her voice rose on the word 'interesting.'

"Mr Smith?" Clara asked, worriedly. She thought they weren't getting anyone else involved.

The Doctor grinned. "I made Sarah Jane a super computer. It was an invention of mine. She calls it Mr Smith. It was a present – helps her with her journalism."

Sarah Jane pressed on from the other side of the line. "First of all, I found the reasoning behind Skaro's slogan; _promising you change through great intelligence_. There was a document online that alerted to me, from a philosopher –"

"In a journal? I found that when I researched it too," Clara added. "I printed it off for John. Couldn't make any sense of it, though."

Sarah Jane sounded impressed. "Looks like you are a pretty good researcher, Clara. But Mr Smith was able to make a connection an ordinary computer couldn't – Simeon doesn't mean he intends to change the country through better education. _Great Intelligence_ refers to his business. It's his business name."

"Promising you change through _Great Intelligence_," John whispered in a hush. "Suddenly that all make sense."

"Wait, Sarah Jane, did you find out anything else about his business? What it does, who it associates itself with?" Clara interjected.

She sighed into the phone. "No, it's completely blocked. All I could find out was that Simeon was the owner of the Great Intelligence Incorporation. But we can hardly exploit him with this small piece of information; after all, it's not illegal for him to _own_ something. What Mr Smith found next is far more useful."

"What is it?"

"Simeon is indeed controlling the media – through blackmail. He's threatened the BBC, ITV, Sky – all of the major news channels. Effectively, he's now running the news for them. Whatever he's done has made each boss to completely hand over their power."

"Wow," said Clara, after a pause.

John was excited now. Clara could see it on how he shuffled to the edge of the sofa, holding the phone as if it was a block of gold. "Do you have any evidence for this, Sarah? Anything at all?"

"Mr Smith was able to hack into the traceable documents photocopied and then stored online by BBC boss, Michael Snow. It's a document between him and Simeon, agreeing on their terms for Simeon to manipulate the media produced by the British Broadcasting Cooperation."

John laughed. "Excellent! You are _amazing_, Sarah Jane!"

But Clara wasn't celebrating yet. "But how are we going to get this out to the public? Simeon's controlling everything."

Sarah Jane sounded careful. "I know an independent news company… I could talk to him. See if he's interested in publishing these findings."

"Can we trust him?" asked John.

"He's always been reliable. I'll have a chat; see his view on the election so far. If he's in favour of Skaro, he definitely won't do it. But he's smart – he should be able to see that there's something going on with the major news channels."

"Try and mention as little as possible," John added.

"I will, don't worry. Remember, I'm good with this sort of thing."

They said goodbye shortly after that, and made a few arrangements of when to meet up next and what would suit all three of them. John placed the telephone back on his desk and stood there for a few minutes, staring at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. Clara had a feeling she knew what was wrong.

"Are you wondering if we made the right decision?"

He scratched his chin. "Yeah. I mean, I want to exploit Simeon for everything that he is but – I'm just thinking about the blackmail he would've used to stop all three executive bosses from calling the police and doing everything he wanted. It's worrying. I don't want to drag you into anything."

Clara shook her head. "Listen, if anyone involved me with this whole business, it was me by being nosy and overhearing the conversation. Or, it was Simeon by mentioning me in his argument. Not your fault."

The Doctor smiled at her and wondered what on earth he'd done to deserve someone like Clara Oswald in his life. Was there anything about her he didn't like? The thought was impossible to him, like trying to catch a bird with a holey net. Today had already been a rollercoaster of emotions, and suddenly, a wave of loving adoration swept over him for the girl sitting on the sofa, sprinkled on top of the fear and hatred for Simeon. He felt confident, assured, and more importantly, he was calculating the amount of space Clara Oswald was now taking up in his heart.

"Tomorrow, if everything goes to plan," he said, beaming, "you, me, wine, dinner. What do you say?"

Clara shot him a mischievous smirk. "It's a date."


	17. Like a Bullet

** A/N: I was going to put a warning on this chapter, but I decided against it. Some people might find the method of threat Simeon uses in this chapter to be mildly extreme or disturbing – to be honest, I'm not sure how other people feel about it because where I live, this happens quite frequently to politicians who have overstepped the mark. I practically grew up hearing about it. On another not, for anyone interested, there was a show on BBC2 the other night about a group of spies trying to take down the Prime Minister, quite similar to this story, with an all-star cast of Ralph Fiennes, Bill Nighy, Helena Bonham Carter and the detective guy from Sherlock. You should check it out. Big thank you to my reviewers from last time round: Guest, Dede42, sassywriterchick, Foeseeker, ImpossibleClara9, Yugicanbesexy, Azkabella, BloodLily16 and ThePotterDoctor. Enjoy this one guys!**

** Chapter Seventeen: Like a Bullet**

Simeon's pen was scratching against the paper on which he was writing. It was the only sound that could be heard in his pitch black office, apart from the occasional car passing by. He preferred to work in the dark – the lack of light hid all of the imperfections he could see through the day, shadowed his misgivings to be unrecognisable in the face reason. It kept him calm, cleared his mind and allowed him to almost taste his victory on the cold, tangy night air.

It was as soon as he felt this serene peacefulness, that there was a rap on his door.

_Tap-tap. Tap. Tap_. That knock meant business. More specifically, it was one of his men.

"Come in," he called.

The man was dressed in all black, from head to foot. He muttered a small hello as he let himself take the seat facing Simeon across his desk. As soon as Simeon laid eyes on him, he knew something was wrong. His shoulders were stiff, his fingers interlinked and his legs parted underneath the table. Nervous, uncertain, with information Simeon was guaranteed not to like.

"What is it, Fowell?" Simeon asked.

Fowell hesitated. His beady green eyes flicked to the window and briefly glanced at the passing lorry before they rested back on Simeon. "I found something today, sir, while I was checking the maintenance of our security programme."

Simeon froze. "Go on."

"As you know we've been tracking the databases of the BBC. This morning at exactly 8:53am, an untraceable computer managed to hack into one of our files."

Simeon's top lip twitched. "Which file?"

"The contract between you and Michael Snow."

Simeon stayed perfectly quiet. He watched his hand spin his golden pen between his fingers. He had plenty of things to say, oh yes, he just needed to know everything first.

"Untraceable, you say?"

"Yes – _but_, I used my initiative, me and a few others. As soon as we were alerted to the problem, we tapped back into John Docherty's office phone. At precisely 11:02am, he received a phone call from the hacker in which she explained the document she found and confirmed their suspicions that you were indeed controlling the media through blackmail."

At those final words, Simeon's blood turned cold. It was like ice was flowing through his veins, searing through his arteries, so cold it was burning. The small fire of rage burned in his stomach and this time, he was struggling to contain his anger. He was sure Fowell could see him shuddering with hatred, practically radiating pure fury. The man had fallen awfully silent.

"Their suspicions," Simeon repeated. "You said _their_ suspicions. Who else knows?"

"The hacker, who John Docherty called Sarah Jane. We haven't been able to match the name to any records, most likely because her untraceable computer is protecting her identity – or it was a fake name. And a second person, on John Docherty's side of the line – in other words, in the office with him – Clara. Who we believe is Clara Oswald, John Docherty's recently hired personal assistant."

Stroking his cheek, Simeon considered this for a few minutes. Well, this made things very clear now. How long had the Doctor known, he wondered, about his control of the media? It mustn't have been long. How did he find out? He always said nothing or no one was going to get in his way, and here was three people intent on destroying his business plan. Not only did this make the plan of action simple, but it enraged the fire in his stomach.

Cautiously, Fowell sat closer to Simeon's desk so he was sitting on the edge of his seat. "There's more, sir. All three of them talked about publishing their findings to an independent news source."

Simeon leaned forward against the hard wooden desk. "Find the news source. Use the standard procedure in silencing them. Forget about this Sarah Jane, that's not important. She's probably a hired investigator. I expect _all_ databases to be properly protected next time, do you understand?"

Fowell frowned. "What about John Docherty and Clara Oswald?"

Looking to the window, Simeon's face twisted into a scowl. "I'm going to send them a letter."

* * *

John arrived earlier than usual to give Clara a lift to work. He took a sneaky detour to Café Nero along the way, insisting to Clara they wouldn't be too late and anyway – he was their boss and he'd already told himself where they'd be.

They sat inside the cosy coffee house on two plush chairs facing one another. The Doctor had already ordered for them, partly because he already knew what Clara's order would be and partly because Clara always insisted they split the bill and the Doctor wanted to pay this time. He struggled carrying over the large tray with a tea, coffee and two chocolate muffins, and Clara repressed a laugh when she saw the Doctor approach while managing it.

"Thanks," she said as he fell into his seat with a huff.

"That's me skipping the gym tonight," he joked. "That's enough exercise for the day, I think."

Clara laughed. "Like you go to the gym!"

"I do so!" He lifted up his right arm and flexed his muscles. "Look, look, I do!"

Clara was still laughing. "You're just trying to be impressive!"

He studied her over his coffee. After a moment he put it back down on the table and said, "So what if I am?"

Smiling, Clara observed his carefree charm, the slight apprehension in his eyes. He didn't know what they were anymore than she did. But she didn't have the heart to bring it up, not yet, anyway. She was enjoying this at the minute; the friendly banter, the odd kiss here and there. It was obvious what they both wanted, it's just neither of them were taking it yet. Perhaps it was because of the situation they were in at the moment with Simeon and Skaro.

But there was a large part of Clara that understood this would either make or break any relationship they might be thinking of at the moment. If they left it too long, their feelings might dwindle. If they rushed into it and the stress of their political environment may get too much, it might take its toll on them. She didn't want to think about this too much.

"You're sweet," Clara decided, out loud. She took a sip of her tea. "When you want to be."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's not that tea with _five_ sugars you're drinking?"

"Hey – you know I need some sugary stimulation in the morning!"

They both gave each other a mischievous look before bursting into a fit of giggles. Through their laughter, they failed to hear the coffee house manager switch the radio channel to a more suitable station. The two radio hosts were reviewing the news in a cheery morning wake up tone.

_"There's definitely something questionable going on here, Joe…"_

_ "His motives have to be questioned, yes, but how can we judge this? How can we prove it?"_

_ "If John Docherty does indeed have a hidden political agenda, then I'm sure we will find out in due course, but for the moment I'm more concerned with –"_

It was the last sentence that Clara and John overheard. Slowly, their laughter died away and was replaced by a stagnant stillness as both of them listened while trying not to listen at the same time. Clara watched as John's smile dropped into a sad brown, and her heart practically broke for him. She knew how much his job meant to him, and here it was getting absolutely destroyed to beyond recognition by one man.

"What do you say we finish our drinks, grab our cake and then get out of here?" Clara suggested, reaching over to take his hand.

He squeezed it back. "We can't escape it Clara. It'll be everywhere for the next few days. Newspapers, television, radio…"

"Well, then, we'll have to distract ourselves, won't we?"

Clara's eyes glittered when she saw him smile. She moved from her own chair to the arm of John's and wrapped a loose arm around his neck. John looked up at her, she was taller than him for once, and as if he couldn't help it, he reached out and dragged Clara into his lap to consumer her in a hug. She yelped in delight and gently leaned her head against his chest. Why did this feel so right, sitting in John's arms? She had to tell herself not to fall in love twice a day now. It was really getting out of hand. She'd stopped trying to fight her common sense telling her it was unwise to date her boss, if that's what they were even doing. Vastra had practically set them up, and for some reason, this gave Clara the approval she seemed to be looking for.

They soon skedaddled from the scene as quickly as they could. John caught a few glances of people who recognised him, wherever he went, but this time he was more alert to them. His hand absentmindedly held onto Clara's wrist as they walked to the car park, just so he could keep his nerve.

"Still on for that date tonight, then?" he asked to distract both of them from the obvious.

"Of course," said Clara, mildly swaying their joined hands.

They drove to work with the radio off after their experience in Café Nero. They reached the Gallifreyan buildings at ten o'clock; a little giddy with their small detour and smiling happily at Donna as she walked up to meet them.

Donna didn't smile back.

"Guys, where have you been?" Donna said, like she was telling them off. "Vastra's been so worried!"

John scoffed. "Donna, why would Vastra be worried? We just went to Café Nero for a little –"

"This is serious John. Vastra wants to see you immediately." Donna looked to Clara. "You too, Clara."

"Both of us?" Clara squeaked.

She and John shared a glance. Clara could practically see him listing off possibilities behind his eyes, each one getting worse and causing reason for concern. "Is she in her office?" he asked.

"No, she's on the top floor. Get your identity passes out." Just as they were about to move, Donna pulled on Clara's arm. "Good luck, the both of you."

Clara didn't like the sound of this. There was definitely something not quite right. John took her hand as they walked over to the lift. On any other occasion they would take the stairs, but this wasn't any other occasion. Vastra had asked to meet them on the top floor instead of her office – that meant external members (people outside of Gallifrey) were with her. That could mean anything. The need for identity passes sounded like it involved officials, whether that be government or something else, John wouldn't like to guess.

As the lift opened to the thirteenth floor, the first thing that hit Clara was the amount of policemen. There were at least five, all dressed in their black and vibrant yellow jackets, some talking to each other, some talking into their radios. Clara felt the pressure increase on her hand as John squeezed it and she braced herself for what was to come when the leader of the pack came to greet them.

"You must be Mr John Docherty and Miss Clara Oswald," the policeman said, taking the time to shake both of their hands. "I'm Chief Inspector Robert Magee. Would you mind joining me in the office with Madame Vastra?"

"Not at all."

They made their way over to the meeting room in silence. The Chief Inspector held the door open, not only for Clara but for John too. Vastra was sitting against the polished desk in the grand meeting room and looked up at them expectedly as they entered. There was nothing but a single cream envelope on the table.

"I can deal with this, thank you very much, Chief Inspector," Vastra commanded in her most commanding tone. "I'll call you in when I've explained everything."

Chief Inspector Robert Magee was unsure. He paused for a moment or two, hands behind his back, and his gaze training on the mysterious envelope. He gave a stiff now towards Vastra, turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

Clara felt a lot more comfortable once they were alone. She let out a sigh of relief and relaxed her stance. The Doctor didn't.

"What's this about, Vastra?" he said with his tone solemn.

Vastra was silent. Reaching out, she nudged the cream envelope, further towards John and Clara. When she looked up to meet their gaze, her eyes were like cold fire. "John, this is for you. But it's addressed to you too, Clara."

John took a breath before picking it up. The paper was coarse against his skin and weighed down by some kind of metal inside. Very carefully, John extracted the letter from the envelope. It was a plain sheet of paper, no credentials or address, only one single sentence printed in thick black letters:

"_For you, John Docherty, and your personal assistant_."

With his heart hammering against his chest, John tipped the contents of the envelope into his left palm. There fell out two golden bullets tipped with black and shining in the daylight. John gripped them in his hand and held them up for all to see. They were large and heavy for him to hold, each about the same weight as a few pound coins. Solid. Created to cause impact.

"A threat," John whispered. He feared he couldn't talk any louder.

"But why would someone send you bullets in the post?" Vastra hissed, slamming her hand against the table. "And why Clara?"

Clara felt strangely light headed and dizzy. She couldn't take her eyes off the bullets in John's hand, intimidating and threatening as if they were personally shouting out at her. John, on the other hand, was quite calm. The bullets we weighing him down like a guilty promise, but despite this, his mind was perfectly clear, his heart returned to its normal pace. He knew where these bullets had come from. And he wasn't afraid of them.

"It's no surprise, really, that these would arrive in the post the day after Simeon tarnished Clara and I's reputation," John lied. "They're probably from someone with a grudge."

"Someone with firearms and a grudge," Vastra pointed out.

"Listen, Vastra this has happened before to a lot of politicians –"

"Don't brush this under the carpet, John, not in front of me. I'm not taking this lightly. Now, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me if there is _anything_ you know. Any suspicion you have. We don't need to tell the Chief Inspector. It'll be between us three."

He could feel Clara's shoulder brush against his upper arm, but he didn't know if that meant anything or not. John knew he should've been concerned with how easily he stared Vastra straight in the eye and lied to her without even blinking, but he was too wrought with anxiety to really care.

"I don't know anything, Vastra," he said.

Vastra considered him. Her eyes curved in a way Clara had never seen before, and her voice took on a volume of deep regret. "I'm sorry you feel like you have to lie to me, Doctor." She shook her head and stared at the table, taking back the envelope. Disappointed.

A few minutes later she called in the Chief Inspector. John and Clara sat at the table, facing Vastra and Robert Magee, discretely holding hands, clasping onto one another, underneath the table. The policeman called in two colleagues to join him in taking notes. He asked them if they'd been threatened before, if they knew the sender, or had any inkling of anyone acting suspiciously lately.

"We'll try to keep this out of the public eye," Robert Magee said. "The less people who know about this the better."

"Oh, don't worry, the media won't be interested," muttered John. _Not when the man behind the media sent it_.

"Don't worry, Mr Docherty, Miss Oswald. These are usually hollow threats with no meaning. They're rarely seen through," the Chief Inspector continued. "What is worrying is that there's someone out there with bullets, and that probably means guns as well. Most likely from an illegal market, and god knows why they have them. Why they feel the need to have them."

He shut his little black leather book and slid two cards over the desk. "One each. If you feel like you are in any danger, any at all, or remember anything, contact us. Okay?"

"Thank you," said Clara.

Chief Inspector Robert Magee retrieved his hat from the table and led the way out of the room. Vastra stood up too, her eyes wandering from the envelope on the table to the space directly in between John and Clara. She frowned before she left without a word, leaving the door open behind her.

Now that they were alone, John and Clara look at one another for the first time since John had opened the envelope. It sat on the table like the omnipresence of an item tainted with bad memories. Two bullets, but only one needed to break either of their hearts.

Where did they go from here?


	18. My

** A/N: Hope everyone had a nice Mother's Day! This chapter (apart from the beginning section) is going to focus entirely on the Doctor and Clara and their relationship. So sorry about not updating midweek like I usually do – I had a lot of university commitments and if I told you what they were, you'd see why I couldn't miss those opportunities but I don't want to bore you all, so here we are. Please remember to review, they really do keep me going when I'm busy and have doubts. I'm off for a few weeks now, so no more excuses! Back to regular updates. Huge thank you's to the latest round of reviewers: Guest, Saharajohanson, Guest, ImpossibleClara9, My Dark Paradise, Dede42, BloodLily16, Foeseeker, ThePotterDoctor, OhMyStarsShiz and Guest. The thing I love about writing this fic is that some people are interested in the dark plot and others are interested in the relationship. I'll keep trying to balance both enough to keep everyone entertained! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

** Chapter Eighteen: My**

John grabbed Clara's hand as his heart lurched and he tugged her closer to him, his other hand brushing away the hair in her eyes. "You know who did this, don't you?" he asked, his eyes wide with worry.

Clara frowned, and with a slight nod of her head, said, "You think this was Simeon, don't you?"

"I _know_ it was Simeon. I know it was Simeon, Clara."

The truth hung in the air like a third presence in the room. It snaked over Clara's skin and made her shiver. If this was indeed Simeon, then his threat was clear: stay out of his business. Usually, Clara didn't take threats lightly, but to her, those two bullets didn't just symbolise the threat Simeon was making but the extent of power he was manipulating. He had bullets, and where bullets were that meant guns, and probably people to wield them. This was big and Clara didn't know whether they could fight it anymore.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, gently stroking his hand. He was tense, stiff, on edge. As if someone was going to barge in through the door at any moment bringing their threat to life.

"I want to get him. I want to exploit everything that he is, I want to show him we won't be stopped, no matter what he throws at us," the Doctor paused and broke off eye contact. "But I'm… I suppose, I'm scared. Not of him, but – what he can do. What he can take away from me now."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Now? What's the sudden difference?"

The gangly, clumsy, nervous Doctor was gone. John was different, as if he had magically transformed the same time he let the bullets fall into his palm. His green hazel eyes made their way back to Clara's, and he shook his head, as if he was denying his own doubts. "You. Us." His tone was soft, comforting. "I think we'd be good. I don't want anything jeopardising that. Especially not Simeon."

Clara broke into a smile – a heart-warming, tension breaking, smile. "I think we'd be good too." She patted his knee, embarrassed yet sincere. "But we can't let Simeon control us."

He joined her in smiling, even though his eyes were dark with concern. "I agree. And I know there's no point talking you out of it. I'm not sure I even want that." He sighed in confusion. "I'm sure this isn't what you imagined when Vastra offered you this job."

"Well, for the short time I've been here, I've broken two of the three of my life rules," Clara joked with a slight roll of her eyes. "But fighting a vengeful, corrupt party leader and secretly trying to bring down his grand master plan? Definitely not."

The Doctor smirked. "Life rules?"

Clara held up her fingers to count. "One, don't get drunk at a staff party. Think we can safely tick that one. Two, don't ever fall for a boss. And, well…" She gestured vaguely to him sitting opposite her. She had no idea why she was getting so embarrassed. It was as if their roles had suddenly reversed.

Feigning ignorance, the Doctor teased, "I didn't know you felt that way for Vastra."

They laughed in spite of themselves and in spite of their current situation. Why did it seem every time something happened to threaten their happiness, their relationship grew stronger each time? Were they really just that defiant?

"And what about the third?" he asked.

Clara really didn't want to answer that one. She paused, just as –

A strong rap on the door made the both of them jump. Strax had entered, his small head raised high in the air and his hands clasped behind his back. He coughed to make himself known before wandering over, quite reluctantly, to John and Clara.

"Vastra would like the both of you to take the rest of the day off," Strax informed them, as if he was reading a script. "Given recent circumstances."

John's eyes glazed over. He jumped to his feet and reached for the dreaded envelope, beckoning Strax closer. "Strax, you specialise in everything military, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Strax answered promptly. Clara noticed how his eyes gleamed. "In fact, I have a specific passion for grenades."

John paused. "Right." He fumbled with the two bullets, and then handed them over to the little man. "Can you tell me more about these? I don't know much about weaponry."

Strax weighed one bullet in each palm. He lifted them up to his eyes and analysed the metal for inscriptions or numbers, labels or scratches. "I am not aware of the make of these bullets, sir. I would say they are personally made for someone, or for a specific reason. They have no identification code, so are impossible to trace. Very unusual."

Exactly what John expected. "Thank you, Strax."

There was nothing else really to do. John admitted it was very gracious of Vastra to let them take the rest of the day off, but then again, neither of them would be able to concentrate anyway. The police were still around as John and Clara walked to the lift with Strax. They bid their co-worker goodbye at the end of the corridor, since Strax was heading back to the office and Clara and John were going to the car park. Clara had only just put her seatbelt on when she groaned and put her hand to her forehead.

"I've left my bag in the meeting room!" she said, unbuckling the belt. "Wait here, I'll go get it."

"No, no," said John, holding up his hand. "I'll get it for you."

With his long legs, it would only take him a few minutes to run up the stairs and get it. Before Clara could object, John was already out of the car, waving the keys at her. Clara narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, but John was laughing as he walked away.

John was lost in a daydream as he crossed the car park. He chose to take the shortcut through the main building to make a quick zigzag across the courtyard and then pop into the lift in Gallifrey's base. However, as he was turned into the main executive building, still caught in his dream, he bumped into the person he least expected.

He saw Walter Simeon turn into one of the smaller corridors which led into the library. John stopped walking for a split second. He had an urge, and impulse, to follow the man and confront him, but in the back of his mind he could hear Clara's voice, telling him to leave it alone.

In the end, the impulse won.

Darting across the foyer, John pushed open the double doors leading to the library corridor. His force was so strong that they banged against the wall on either side and echoed down the long strip of marble floor. Simeon stopped and tilted his head to the threshold, his hand on the library door, ready to push it open. He stopped his action, let his arm fall to his side and turned around to fully face his enemy.

John took a step away from the doors, his face half covered with shadow. The walls in this corridor were deep mahogany, glossed with clear paint, which caused the corridor to always be in shade, even on the sunniest day. He could just make out the outline of Simeon's features in the lack of light, and the longer they stood their, staring at one another, John's stomach twisted with hatred and resentment.

"In a rush, Doctor?" Simeon called to him, his tone weirdly light. It was irksome.

The Doctor snorted. It was a rough sound that clearly set the tone of their conversation. He started to walk closer to Simeon, his footfalls tapping against the cold marble floor, and stopped in the centre, only a metre or two away from the man. "No," he said, dully. "I'm not going anywhere."

Simeon quirked an eyebrow. He flexed his hands in his leather gloves. "Is that so?"

"Especially after that letter I received this morning," John prompted, raising his chin in the air. He watched Simeon very carefully.

The man was expressionless. "Letter? Why are you telling me about a letter?"

"Maybe because I know it was you who sent it."

Simeon's face was drained from emotion. Glancing to the ground, he bridged the gap between his enemy. Simeon and John were only inches apart, their eyes locked on each other. John could feel Simeon's breath on his face as the man asked, "And what did this letter say?"

The Doctor had to grip his hands together by his side as to restrain the impulse of physical violence. "It was a threat. To stay out of your business."

Simeon's eyes were like fire. "If you're getting threats from _someone_," he said, his voice low and deadly. "Do you not think it would be wise to do as it says?"

They both eyed one another for two long seconds. All of a sudden, John smiled. His eyes remained dark, serious, but his face lifted into a smile. He leaned in closer to Simeon, and whispered, "See, the thing is about threats… They could go either way. It might warn someone off, but other times, it spurs them on."

Simeon's lips pressed together, as if he'd smelt something particularly horrible. "Is that so?" he growled.

Nodding, the Doctor took a few steps away. Simeon was rooted in position, his eyes following John as he backed out of the corridor. The Doctor continued, with his arms raised in the air for emphasis, "And my reaction to things, well, has always been _extreme_."

The Doctor exited at that point. He felt some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. His last glance of Simeon was of the man standing in the dark, glowering, and seething in absolute rage. It made the Doctor feel satisfied – hopefully he could unnerve Simeon in exactly the same way he had unnerved them. He wasn't usually a man for revenge, but this, well, it felt different. The threat felt genuine. In response, the Doctor had removed all previous rules from his moral handbook in order to make sure he kept himself and Clara safe.

That was why, ten minutes later, when the Doctor had returned with Clara's bag, he conveniently forgot to tell her anything about his confrontation with Simeon.

* * *

Clara didn't feel like going home, and John certainly didn't feel like letting her go yet. They ended up in John's lovely flat, sitting in the kitchen and looking through the cupboards for something to eat for lunch. His cupboards were practically empty, to Clara's disdain, not because she was hungry herself, but because it showed John didn't have a regular eating pattern. That worried her.

"You really need to do some shopping, John," she told him as she reached up to retrieve two packets of barbeque supernoodles. "I haven't had _these_ since I was a student."

John scrunched up his nose. "I don't shop unless I know someone is coming around. Don't really like food shopping."

Clara turned around and leaned against the worktop. She watched his gangly frame reach up to search through his own cupboards, completely oblivious to her staring at him. He was adorable. "I'll take you shopping later today," she said determinedly.

He quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at her, grinning. He shut the cupboard doors and leaned on his elbow beside her, almost completely lost in her eyes. She was very distracting. "How have I survived without my Clara Oswald before, eh?"

"_Your_ Clara Oswald?" she teased.

The blush coloured John's cheeks almost immediately. He flinched, repositioned himself and then awkwardly shrugged. "Do you… want to be?"

Clara smiled and glanced down. She took a step closer to him – if that was possible – and admitted, "Only if you're my Doctor. My John."

He gently brushed the back of her hair, and Clara took her chance to make a move. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his warm lips. He responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and setting her on the kitchen counter so, for once, their faces were level and their touch never breaking. He kissed her back with such enthusiasm that Clara's breath was literally taken away. She had to pull away to breathe, her face unusually warm as she stared into the green hazel eyes of the man who had just made her heart flutter in a way she had never experienced before. It was like she was seeing him differently for the first time. Her arms hung loosely around his neck, her eyes glued onto his as her chest swelled with happiness.

John seemed to be feeling the same. He gave her the brightest smile she had ever seen, lifted her into the air and spun her around, wrapping her in a huge embrace. They both squealed in delight. John held onto her as he put her back on the ground, his chin resting on top of her head. This felt right. How had he managed life before without the feeling of Clara by his side? This was perfect, and despite everything, he was truly happy.

To him, the person in his arms was more precious than life itself. And he didn't know what he'd done to deserve her. There was no way to describe what it felt like to truly adore someone with everything that you are – John would need to purchase a dictionary to expand his vocabulary – but if someone asked him to explain it in one word, right now, he would simply reply with: Clara.

The cliché of true love, portrayed in books and films, usually told the story of two friends growing up without realising what was in front of them. But real life was different. Real life wasn't as precise. Sometimes, it's simple; sometimes it seems to be more complicated than it's worth. The Doctor and Clara, however, were a story of their own. With each chapter, the story grew darker, but with each chapter they grew stronger. Who knew how it would end?

* * *

**Note: Next time be prepared for Clara's new discovery, John's retaliation and Simeon steps up his plans. Should be up on Wednesday! Can we reach 200 reviews by then? **


	19. You're Impossible

** A/N: Busy chapter. Hope you all enjoy! Big thank you to my amazing, loyal reviewers: ThePotterDoctor, molliquin, DancingWithTheDoctor, saharajohanson, OhMyStarsShiz, My Dark Paradise, Dede42, Guest, BloodLily16, Foeseeker and ImpossibleClara9. Please remember to review everyone who is reading, makes me want to do bigger and better chapters. Next time, expect Simeon to step up his threat and the Doctor and Clara to become even closer. Massive chapter next time, guys! Really excited for it.**

** Chapter Nineteen: You're Impossible**

Clara was sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone raised to her ear. She tapped out the rings of the line as she waited for the phone to answer. _Ring-ring. Ring-ring_. Just slightly off rhythm with her heart.

There was a muffle on the line. "Hello? Clara?"

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. "Sarah! I was worried there for a second."

Sarah Jane sounded cautious. She sighed as well, and immediately Clara understood why. "Clara, I have a feeling I know what this is about," Sarah Jane said. "The owner of the private newspaper phoned me earlier this morning. He, too, was threatened late last night. He's backed out of publishing our findings."

Closing her eyes, Clara silently winced. She rubbed the space in between her eyes as she took a moment to think. They'd unintentionally put that man in danger, not to mention Sarah Jane. But there was a point to this phone call, and both she and the Doctor agreed she should be the one to tell Sarah.

"What about you? Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. But why don't you seem surprised about the threat? I was expecting a bigger reaction."

Typical Sarah Jane. Always analysing the details, always aware of what is not said. Clara could only admire her.

"We were sent two bullets in the post, Sarah," Clara told her, relatively calmly. "John and I. We thought he would've tracked you down too."

There was a pause on the other end. "Oh, Clara," Sarah Jane eventually said, her voice flowing with empathy. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? If you need anywhere to stay which is untraceable, or you need more support, then you just have to ask. You know that, right? I'm supporting you both, all the way."

Clara's chest twanged with regret. "That's the thing, Sarah, we were talking and… Well, we decided we wanted to do this alone. We're putting too many people in danger involving other people. It's not right. At least if it's just us, then we don't –"

"Clara, you need my help –"

"We don't want you getting hurt. John sees you as family, if anything happens to you, it would destroy him. Please, Sarah Jane. Just to give John a peace of mind."

Sarah Jane was quiet. Clara let the silence expand between them, not knowing what to say and not really wanting to push the conversation any further. That was when she heard a soft noise coming from the other line, almost like a quiet clicking. Typing?

"Listen, Clara, I'm sending you a software package. Download it onto your computer. It'll let you hack most basic systems while leaving your location untraceable. Okay?"

Clara smirked. "Is that a yes, Sarah? Are you going to let this go?"

"I'm not making any promises but the sake of an argument, yes, Clara. I'll let it go for now. I'm giving the power over to you." The kind woman sighed again, and beseechingly said, "You'll be careful, the both of you, won't you? And if you need anything –"

"We know you're one hundred per cent behind us, and believe me, we're really grateful. Thank you, Sarah. So much."

"I'll keep in contact."

"Take care, Sarah."

"You too, Clara."

Pressing her phone against her forehead, Clara tightly closed her eyes. That felt harder than she thought it originally would. It felt like they'd just cut off their last strand of support. Well, they had. John and Clara wanted to do this alone, and they'd gotten their wish. It was scarier than Clara would've liked.

Yet, what made it scary but strangely exciting at the same time?

For something to do, Clara flipped up the lid of her laptop and checked her emails. Just as Sarah Jane had explained, the software was attached, ready to download. Clara stared at the download button, almost warily, unsure if she should proceed. Shaking her head, angry with herself, she downloaded Sarah Jane's software and waited for the effect.

It didn't take long to download. It didn't even change much on Clara's laptop – all it did was install a new browser. It was the shape of a magnifying glass with no label attached. Suddenly curious, Clara clicked on it.

A message popped up:

_ This was designed by the Doctor. Your computer will be completely untraceable. I've given you a head start. Good luck. Love, Sarah Jane X. _

Clara smiled. The Doctor was obviously better at this inventing thing than she initially estimated. She followed the second link Sarah Jane had provided, pulling the laptop further onto her lap so she could get a better look at the screen. It was a search results page of a weird computer code Clara didn't recognise. The top result was purple, indicating Sarah Jane had already looked at it. Using her initiative, Clara clicked on the top result.

It brought her to a database spreadsheet. In the top right corner was a symbol Clara had never seen before: a capital GI in curled writing. She immediately recognised the connection between _Great Intelligence_ and GI. This was some sort of marketing database from Simeon's private company.

The database held a list of transactions. On the left side was a list of names, some belonging to other businesses, well known banks, entrepreneurs and others that were much more ambiguous. In the next sector was a sum of money beside each name. Clara gaped as she watched the rising amount break off into strands, which where then linked to the area of spending. She idly noted that the biggest investment seemed to be from a weirdly titled square, simply named '_trade_.'

It was very clear what this was – almost surprisingly so. This was fraud. Corporate fraud. On a very large scale.

For ICT GSCE, Clara had learnt all about the different types of fraud, most of which could happen online. It was part of their internet safety topic. As she looked down the list she could easily name the fraud and link it to the victim. Everything from account takeovers, bankruptcy-related fraud, exploiting assets and information, government agency scams and insurance. This was huge.

The only thing that still puzzled her was trade. What did they mean by trade? It cost the biggest total of money, but also raked in the thousands. What exactly was Simeon's business dealing in and trading out?

Quickly, as if she was only allowed to view this information for a short time, Clara print screened the page and scribbled down a quick copy into her notebook lying open on her bedside table. The next thing she did was scroll to John's number on her phone (now one of her most contacted contacts) and pressed dial.

It didn't take long for him to answer.

"Hello? Clara? What is it, are you alright?"

"Doctor, I think you better come over," Clara said, unable to look away from the screen. "I've found something."

* * *

"Fraud?!"

"Really."

John was pacing up and down Clara's room, both of his hands lost in his hair as he listened to Clara list off the types of fraud, followed by the amounts stolen from companies, businesses, banks and individuals alike.

"_How_ the hell is he managing it?" John almost shouted, hands raised in the air. "I mean, the odd quid here or there I can understand – but _thousands_ from each company?"

"The thing is, John, he's really smart," Clara explained. She was sitting on her knees on her bed, her head following John's movements. "Where the banks are concerned, it's at the most one pound from every bank account. Virtually undetectable. But it all adds up – let's say there are thirty thousand customers, all loosing one pound each, that's already thirty thousand pounds."

John spun around to face her, his mouth hanging open. "But how, Clara? How is he breaking into all these companies and stealing from them? How is he doing that?"

"I suppose it's all in the name. Maybe he really is a _great intelligence_," Clara muttered, the very idea making her squirm with discomfort.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, John stared out of Clara's window, at the nicely sunny day right behind the glass. He frowned. "Is there anything else we can decipher from the database? Anything that can help us?"

"Something that can warn us." Clara highlighted the area she was talking about and turned the laptop around for John to see. "See that, right there? He's paying hired men every month. God knows what they specialise in. But for that sum of money, I'm guessing it's not knitting."

Groaning, John collapsed on Clara's bed. He sat with his head in his hands and his arms resting on his knees, angrily rubbing at his face, as it if would help them. "Shit," he spat angrily. "And trade – what does trade mean? What could he be trading in?"

Clara scoffed sarcastically. "Yeah, well, we know personally that Simeon has weapons. Even Strax said those bullets were unique. He could be importing guns from abroad – where else would he get them in England, or the rest of the UK for that matter? – and then making or selling his own. Although, I have no idea _why_."

"Or it could be something else entirely," John said, looking up to meet Clara's gaze.

She couldn't help but glance at his untidy hair, sticking up all over the place. She had to fight away the smirk creeping onto her face. _Now wasn't the time_, she told herself. _This was serious_. She knew exactly what he meant. "It could. I'll look into it more, see what I can find."

He nodded absent-mindedly. "We're close to finding out everything, Clara. I can feel it. So far we know Simeon has a private business, which he intends to strengthen through political manipulations. All of his money comes from fraud, and this mysterious trade. He had supporters, weapons, unique bullets… We just don't know how. But as long as we have everything else, we don't really need to know. We just need to build up an argument full of proof."

Clara opened up her arms, silently signalling for John to fall into her embrace. He frowned as he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly and resting his cheek on her shoulder. They toppled over on Clara's bed, lying down and hugging without breaking contact. Clara felt as if she could stay like that all day, with her head resting on John's chest, listening to him breathing. It felt right.

"You're thinking," Clara stated, gently patting his stomach.

"How can you tell?"

"You're quiet. You're hardly ever quiet."

He started stroking her hair as he stared at the ceiling. Clara smiled and closed her eyes, light shivers rolling down her back.

"I'm thinking about announcing this to the House of Commons tomorrow," John admitted, in a light whisper. "At the meeting. The media won't report it, but everyone in the Commons will finally know what's going on. What do you think?"

Tracing the pattern on his shirt with the tip of her finger, Clara stayed perfectly quiet. They both knew, either way, John would reveal something tomorrow at the meeting between the two rival teams. There was no way he could keep his mouth shut now, not with Simeon's threats and constant wind ups. What he was really asking was: are you prepared for the retaliation? Of the consequences for them both, if he were to do it.

Sensing her trepidation, John continued, "I'm the voice of us, of our meddling, so he'll take it out on me. I guarantee it. But at least if we get it out there that Simeon is dealing in dodgy doings, if something does happen to me, then –"

"Don't talk like that," Clara snapped.

His hand rested in her hair. "Clara, he has weapons and henchmen. I can't help but think of it. At least if I'm mysteriously shot, and there's no connection to Simeon, someone from my party – or other authorities – will look into it more because of what I said in the meeting."

He was joking, she could easily tell from his teasing tone, but Clara didn't find it funny at all. She raised herself up on her elbow to shoot him a hard stare, eyes slightly narrowed.

"What?" He was smiling cheekily now. "Can't bear to live without me?"

Clara rolled her eyes and slapped his stomach. "Shut up."

"Well, then, that makes two of us." As she raised an eyebrow, John shrugged and moved his lips, but no words came out. Stumbling over his sentence, he explained, "I was thinking, the other night, what my life would be like without you right now, and – I suppose, what I'm saying is, I – well, my life before you seems so hazy. Almost like a dream. Now I'm living. More than ever. I know it's terribly cheesy and pathetic of me, but it's the absolute truth. I know, here I am, all soppy, you're probably thinking what an idiot –"

Clara silenced him with a kiss. She moved her body so she was lying flat against him, pinning their bodies together, and slid her tongue over his lips. He raised his head off the bed, supporting his upper body with his elbows, and kissed her back just as fiercely. "It's not soppy," Clara breathed between a kiss, "if it comes from the heart." She slid her hand underneath his slightly ruffled shirt (how had that happened?) and placed her palm over the place she could feel his heart beating the strongest. She smiled against his lips as she felt his skin shiver.

"As soon as you kiss me, I forget everything, do you know that?" he muttered, pulling away to look her in the eyes.

Grinning, Clara teased, "That sounds dangerous."

He was staring at her as if she was something he had never seen before, something he didn't understand. He supposed he didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it – what kind of magical power did Clara Oswald possess to captivate him in such a way that made him forget about the situation they were in? Make him laugh, smile, despite everything? "You're impossible," he said out loud, with a little shake of his head. "Absolutely impossible."

* * *

John was sitting in the assembly chamber, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his knee. He was sitting on the front row, in his usual position, on the right hand of Vastra, who was uncharacteristically late. Her empty space beside him felt like a cold draft on his side. Across from him sat Harold Saxon, who was talking animatedly to Kovarian in the row behind. He could sense Simeon staring at him, despite John refusing to look in his direction. Now that he was faced with confessing the truth, he felt more nervous that ever.

Subconsciously, he looked up at the viewing booths, and found Clara sitting in the front row, notebook leaning on her lap as she gazed at what the journalist was writing beside her. It didn't matter that she was looking at him right now, all John needed to know was that she was there and she was supporting him.

However, that meant he didn't see Simeon following his gaze while silently joining the dots between the politician and his political researcher.

Simeon glanced away and smiled. People were so obvious sometimes.

"Order!" called Wilfred to the chamber. "We're in a bit of a rush today, as you all know. Let's try to make everything as short as possible. Agreed?"

Vastra quickly hurried into the chamber to take her seat in the middle of Gallifrey, beside John. She signalled with a gesture of her hand for Wilfred to continue. With only a month until the election, the final draft of campaigning had to be handed in from each party later this afternoon. Everyone was restless to get their work finished and so, Wilfred was given a low chorus of agreeing murmurs.

"Okay, good. To start, does anyone have anything to say from the Skaro party?" Wilf sat forward in his seat to stare pointedly at Walter Simeon.

Very slowly, Simeon looked to the left and looked to the right to see if any of his members were standing. John narrowed his eyes in suspicion – _no one_ from Skaro had anything to say? Usually they were the first to jump into an argument.

Once it was clear no one had any questions or proclamations, Simeon stood up to the box. "Thank you, kind speaker, but it seems my party has nothing to add at this time. Personally, I think my party has done everything it could to portray a fair representation of ourselves for this upcoming election, and also, we have done everything we could to tell the public the truth about our opposition. As I have said before, we are by the people for the people."

"What utter lies," Vastra muttered under her breath. To John, it seemed as if their leader was seething under her skin. John frowned.

"Thank you, Mr Simeon," Wilfred said as he sat down. He then looked at Vastra. "And what of Gallifrey? Do they have anything to say?"

John caught Vastra's gaze before she managed to look at anyone else. She eyed him for a moment, trying to guess his motivation. After a pause, she gave him a small nod of confirmation.

John stood up at the box.

This was it. No turning back. He fixed his cufflinks and thought of Clara, only a few metres away, carefully watching him. He let out a small breath.

"For the past few weeks, Mr Speaker, Skaro has taken it upon themselves to point out any supposed '_wrongdoings_' on the side of Gallifrey," John started, looking directly at Wilfred. "While we have blatantly denied any of their implications, I decided it was only fair for us to clarify the hidden agenda of Skaro. After hours of searching through the well-disguised lies of our opposition, I came across a very interesting find."

Now John looked to Simeon. The man was sitting as straight as a rod of iron with his nose pointed in the air. His cold eyes were burning with fire, ready to escalate at any given moment. John felt a spark of justice in his stomach. For once, _he_ was unnerving Simeon.

"Walter Simeon, so it seems, is the owner of a business called _The Great Intelligence_. This business has connections to the media." John paused and glanced around the chamber, resting his gaze on the television camera in front of him. "But it's not just a connection, as in a relationship, is it Walter Simeon?"

Vastra was reaching for his arm. "Doctor," she warned.

Before John could continue, or shrug off Vastra's hand, Simeon bolted to the box, leaning down to talk into the microphone and drown out John's voice.

"My business, which isn't even my business, John Docherty –"

John scoffed. "I have proof, Simeon, I have the documents in my file –"

"_The Great Intelligence_ Corporation was owned by my grandfather and he left the inheritance to me," Simeon, argued, lied, as he spat daggers towards John. "The inheritance which I have since rejected!"

"But you'd frame Vastra for doing exactly the same thing?" John shouted. "That's all, though, is it Simeon? You have –"

Vastra was on her feet and attempting to push her deputy down. "Doctor, think about this. _Sit down_."

"I have documents, Mr Speaker, I have documents to prove I'm handing over the business. But I guarantee it is not in the public interest," Simeon continued to argue into the mic. "I can –"

"Mr Simeon, sit down!" ordered Wilfred, standing on his pedestal. "Mr Docherty, do as Vastra tells you and please, sit down. I've had enough of this blaming and arguing over businesses and agenda. This is not a trial, this is an election!"

"_John_," Vastra hissed, tugging on his arm now, willing him to back down. It was the use of his real name, the name Clara mostly used, that broke John's harsh exterior. Biting his tongue and accepting Wilfred's refusal to listen, John let Vastra pull him down into his seat, his eyes glued to the floor.

Vastra stood up in his place. "I have nothing to add, kind Speaker," she finished.

"Good," Wilfred said, tapping his desk. "In the future, let us remember we are politicians, nothing else and nothing more. Now, get back to work. This chamber is dismissed."

Vastra tilted her head into the Doctor's view. Her eyes were alight with too many emotions. "We're having a long talk. Understood?"

He nodded but refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he watched as the members of parliament filed out through the threshold, watched as the cameras were turned off and as Wilfred climbed down from his seat. That certainly hadn't gone how he'd planned. He didn't even have a chance to explain the fraud they'd found. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn't get that far, looking back at it. He could feel Simeon's stare burning into him from afar.

It was the perfect moment for Clara to appear, as she always did after an assembly. John looked up and smiled, unable to help it. As she approached, just over her shoulder, he could see Simeon staring at them. John's expression hardened. Simeon met his eyes, his own expression just as stony. They were silently sizing each other up.

"Are you okay? You sure?"

"Fine, yes, Clara." John said, still staring at the opposition. He ran his hand through the back of her hair and rested his arm around her shoulder, keeping her locked to his side.

Across from Gallifrey, Davros bellowed in a hearty voice, "What a load of bullshit, eh? They'd spout anything to make a point."

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" John sneered. "You'd do anything to save your own skin. All three of you."

"All three of us?!" Saxon laughed incredulously. "What do you think this is, Docherty, some sort of _conspiracy_?"

Clara could feel John physically bristling with anger and hatred. She rubbed his back, hoping to soothe him. "Don't, John. We know the truth," she whispered. She looked to the side to see Vastra eyeing her, her lips pursed and eyebrows crossed. Clara guiltily looked away.

Before John could shout back, Vastra clasped one hand each on John and Clara's shoulders. "I think we all need a good talk," she muttered, gesturing for them to take the lead.

As they held hands, discretely, Simeon watched as John and Clara, followed closely by Vastra, left the empty chamber. He turned to his two colleagues, saying, "I think we need to talk as well."


	20. Of Love and Promises

** A/N: I've actually had most of this chapter written for quite a while. Well, the key parts. Two warnings for this chapter: one for threatening language and another for a steamy scene at the end between John and Clara. I kept it strictly T rated (which is 15 here in the UK, right?) so don't worry. This has got to be the longest chapter so far and definitely one of my favourites! Massive thank you to the wonderful reviewers and supporters, you really make my day: Soultigerdrwho, ImpossibleClara9, DancingwiththeDoctor, Foeseeker, Dede42, Linesy, molliquin, My Dark Paradise, remembermecleverboy, Azkabella, ThePotterDoctor and BloodLily16. Also special thanks to Denton1122 for that lovely private message. Hope you enjoy this dramatic chapter, please remember to review!**

** Chapter Twenty: Of Love and Promises**

SLAM!

The door closed behind them with an almighty bang after Vastra flung it shut. Clara flinched beside the table, the air from the impact gently ruffling her hair. She felt as if she was due a very serious telling off, and for once in her life, she wasn't prepared to argue back.

"What the hell were you two thinking?" Vastra yelled, spinning around, pointing at Clara and John. She was absolutely fuming.

John took a step forward. "This had nothing to do with Clara –"

"Oh _please_!" Vastra snapped. "Don't take me as a fool, Doctor, since the very second I set you two up, you've been inseparable! What ever you've gotten yourself into, Clara's right there with you. Aren't you, Clara?"

Clara jumped at the conversation suddenly turning to her. She thought about what she was going to say for a few seconds before speaking. "I am… with John, yes," she said carefully.

Vastra shot John a glare with her eyebrows raised and her arms folded. It was very clear what this meant to Clara: Vastra was blaming John for getting her involved, even if she consented to being involved in the first place.

"Vastra, I was the one who started all of this," Clara objected, taking up a stand beside John. "If anything, I got John into it."

"That's not true, it involved me anyway, you just got caught up in the mid –"

"And what is exactly going on here, hm?" Vastra interupted, instantly silencing John. "All _I_ know is that two of my colleagues – and _friends_ – received a mysterious, threatening letter and instead of taking that as a warning, John decides to stand up in the middle of the chamber and _provoke_ the situation!"

John and Clara both stayed silent, each one looking at a different end of the room. Vastra sighed and shook her head. "_What_ has this got to do with Walter Simeon?"

They looked up at her at the mention of his name, both a little startled, a little taken aback.

"This obviously has something to do with Walter Simeon or Skaro," Vastra explained tiredly. "I know you too well, Doctor. You hit back at the people who threaten you. But they didn't just threaten you, did they? They also threatened Clara. Something like that would make you irrational enough to start a fight in the middle of a packed chamber, in front of channels broadcasting all around the UK."

Lowering his head, John muttered, "We can't prove it, Vastra. We just know."

"Have you even thought this through?! What makes you think Walter Simeon would have firearms, or bullets? He's a political representative!"

"As I said, we can't prove it. We just know." John scratched his chin, finally meeting Vastra's gaze. He didn't want to tell her everything; he didn't want her getting involved or alerting the authorities until they had the ultimate proof or perfect case against him. Everyone would have the same reaction as Vastra if they alerted the authorities too soon, despite their recent findings. _He's a politician. He's supposed to represent the people. He can't be a fraud_. They were better working alone.

"A while ago, Clara overheard Simeon talking to Davros and Saxon. They were discussing how to ruin my reputation but they also mentioned something about controlling the media. We looked into it, researched as much as we could and found out Simeon has been blackmailing all major broadcasting channels to support Skaro and not us. Simeon must've found out what we did and he sent us a little blackmail of his own."

Vastra remained expressionless. "Do you have proof of this blackmail?"

"Yes, we do," John replied instantly.

In reaction to this, Vastra let herself lean against the wall, her head slightly tilted back. "I knew they were up to something." Then she stood up straight again, pointing at John. "But you should've alerted me to this as soon as you found out, Doctor. We're a party. We're a team. If you find something concerning, or you have any sort of suspicions about anything, you're priority should be to come to me, not to announce your findings to personally provoke someone like Walter Simeon."

Clara tried to remain as neutral as possible as John explained the half-truth, but in all honesty, she felt uncomfortable. Vastra had been nothing but supportive and kind to Clara since she joined Gallifrey, and she almost felt as if they were betraying her in some way. She understood why he was doing it, yet, she still couldn't shake the feeling.

"Are you sure that it isn't a supporter of Simeon who sent the bullets? The two might not be linked," Vastra hedged.

"You're just going to have to trust me. I know it was him," John said, remaining adamant.

Vastra nodded. She walked towards them both and eventually broke a smile. "I trust you. Both of you. I just don't want to believe that's what we're up against. I'm afraid we don't have enough to use against Simeon if we were to –"

"We don't want the authorities getting involved, anyway," John put in urgently. "As long as we know, and you know, to watch out for what Simeon is capable of, we'll be okay. Besides, if he ups his threat, maybe he'll slip up next time and we will have something to use against him."

Vastra was completely unreadable as she stared at the Doctor, her lips softly pressed together as if they were pursed. Was she still unwillingly to believe? Was she questioning their motives? She eyed him for a few minutes, and John shuffled under her stare, but then her gaze rested on Clara and she muttered, "Let's hope it doesn't get that far."

* * *

They all worked late that night. All of the important figures in Gallifrey were gathered in the basement meeting rooms inside the main Executive building, everyone of them discussing and scribbling and typing and rushing off to print final copies of their work. It was busy.

At nine o'clock – many hours past typical closing time – the only people left in the meeting room was Rose, Jenny, Strax, Vastra, Clara and John. Jenny was keeping them all going by making constant cups of tea and coffee, stronger than usual, and so far the caffeine and the company kept everyone positive.

"I think we're finished," Vastra announced fifteen minutes later. "Well done everyone."

A round of exhausted applause sounded around the table, before everyone started packing up their things. Jenny made to collect the empty mugs when Rose raised her hands up. "Jenny, you've done enough for everyone. Me and Clara can clean these up, can't we, Clara?"

Clara brushed her off. "Rose, you're probably exhausted as it is." She gestured to her friend's emerging bump. "I'll do it, I don't mind."

Strax was helping to carry the files for Vastra as she had to take a call. Jenny, keen to help, opened the doors for Strax so he could walk through the dark corridor. John put down his briefcase and picked up his own mug. "I'll help too."

Vastra lifted the phone away from her ear and called, "Reception says there is a call waiting for you upstairs, Doctor."

"Can't it wait?" John asked.

She shook her head. "You know what the late-night receptionists are like. They won't wait long."

John looked towards Clara, who smirked in response. "It's just a few mugs. I'll be fine."

"Okay." He kissed the top of her head and just before he rushed off, said, "I'll meet you upstairs when you're done!"

Vastra, Strax and Jenny left soon after to hand in the finished files. Rose hugged Clara goodbye before heading off too, and before Clara even noticed, she was on her own.

Moving as quickly as she could, Clara collected all of the empty cups and stacked them on one side of the room next to the cupboards. She didn't need to clean them or put them away – the cleaners would do that tomorrow morning. She shrugged on her coat and fixed the chairs in their proper places around the table, closed the blinds and turned off the light as she locked the door behind her.

She paused before walking through the pitch black narrow corridor. Clara always hated the basement in buildings; they reminded her of old ghost stories her mother used to tell her as a kid. She put her hand up to the wooden wall, feeling for a light switch, but with no success. The late-night workers had probably turned off the electricity in the other basement rooms hours ago. Briefly, she considered using her phone for light, and then she told herself: _grow up. It's only the dark. What can hurt me here?_

The only sound Clara could hear as she walked across the marble floor was the patter of her high heels. She turned through the next set of double doors, into the next dark corridor where behind the next two double doors was the stairs to the next floor.

That was when she noticed two shadowy figures through the panes of glass.

Was it John, and maybe Vastra, coming down again to meet her halfway? She fastened her pace, curiosity peaked, to catch up with the two figures.

But it wasn't John and Vastra at all.

Clara abruptly stopped in her tracks, in the middle of the black corridor, as the two doors facing her swung open, causing some of the light from the stairwell pour into the dark.

Davros and Harold Saxon stepped out.

The caution edging across Clara's skin was like warm water on an icy surface. The two men stopped at the doors, standing in front of them, almost as if they were guarding the exit. Thinking quickly, Clara spun around, intending to go back the way she came, maybe call John, send him a text, find another way out – but her heart lurched as she saw someone walking through the double doors behind her, lurking in the shadows, the light from the exit unable to reach his features.

It was Walter Simeon.

They had her cornered.

Her heart was beating so quickly against her chest, Clara felt lightheaded. She urged herself to calm down, to think clearly, not to panic. But she couldn't help it. Here they were, in the deepest part of the Executive Government buildings, in the half-light, without any CCTV or security.

The perfect setting.

Clara put on her bravest exterior as Simeon sauntered towards her with his shoulders back and nose in the air. Clara stood up straighter, trying to show she wasn't afraid despite her insides being liquid fear.

"Clara Oswald," Simeon greeted. His voice was ice cold. "I've been meaning to have a chat with you."

Clara had to squeeze her right hand into a fist to keep herself calm. "What a coincidence," she replied sarcastically. "I've been meaning to avoid you."

He smiled at that, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was as if he was internally calculating her, perceiving her character just by looking. "Yes, I know. That's why I brought Saxon and Davros along. For a bit of extra… _persuasion_."

Simeon stopped right in front of her, only a metre apart. Clara refused to step backwards, despite all of her instincts screaming at her to back away from him, as far away as possible. Simeon's frosty gaze was locked onto her for an uncomfortable amount of time. She wouldn't break contact.

"I know what you and the Doctor are doing," Simeon announced, as if it was news to her.

Clara raised her eyebrows. "I know. Thank you for the bullet, it'll look lovely on my bookshelf."

He smirked, but neither confirmed nor denied anything. He took a step closer so that Clara had to look up at him to maintain eye contact. As if he was using her height to his advantage. She hoped he couldn't see the thumping of her heart underneath her blouse, since it was the only giveaway of how she really felt. But he wouldn't look away from her eyes.

Simeon bent down so that his face was level to Clara's and his lips pulled back into a snarl, as he threatened, "_Stay_ out of my business."

She knew what he meant by that, but she didn't let it show. Clara merely blinked. Her mind was running through different possibilities at a mile per minute, each one gradually getting worse as to why he'd cornered her here, what he was trying to achieve by confronting her. Somewhere in her overactive thoughts something clicked into position – John just happened to get a phone call at reception, a long way away, leaving Clara alone on her own down here. Was this all a plan?

Of course it was. This was Simeon, the man capable of multiple types of fraud and blackmail without ever catching the attention of the authorities. He _was_ an authority.

"Threats don't work on me, Simeon," Clara breathed against the fear building up to an all-time high in her chest. Her nerves increased her defences.

"I've noticed," Simeon said, almost a whisper. "This isn't a warning, or even a threat, Clara. If I _was_ warning you, well, you wouldn't be able to walk out of this corridor. And I've already threatened you with my little letter. This is me _promising_ you."

He extracted from his pocket a long golden bullet tipped with black. An exact replica of the ones addressed to her and John. Clara's eyes widened as she saw it – a wave of strange relief passing over her. They knew Simeon had sent the bullets, but there was no real confirmation. This was all they needed to know it _was_ Simeon, just as they knew all along. Now there would be no doubts about what they were up against.

Simeon twirled the bullet through his fingers before pressing the cold metal against Clara's cheek. She shivered, visibly, from the sudden motion, but remained expressionless at his twisted game. He attempted to smile but it looked more like an enraged sneer. Simeon moved the bullet from Clara's cheek and slipped it into the top pocket on her blouse, directly over her heart. He patted the soft material as if he was comforting her.

Clara could feel the heavy metal brush against the inner fabric, the coldness chilling her skin through the thin chiffon.

"A little something to remind you of that promise," he whispered, his voice low and silky. "Next time, it'll be inside a gun and _pointed_ at your heart. Do you understand?"

Clara said nothing. All she could concentrate on was the icy weight against her skin. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself squeaking in fear or shouting out an angry retort at her enemy. When Simeon stepped away, it was as if someone had released her from chains. She didn't know how to think, what to feel. She was infuriated, angry, yet scared and reluctant. As Simeon walked across the corridor to join Davros and Saxon in the light of the stairs, an impulsive and overwhelming sense of confusion assaulted Clara's common sense. Under the influence of such strong emotions, she reached into her pocket and clasped her hand around the large bullet. Then without a single thought, Clara spun around, fast as lightning, and threw the bullet in Simeon's direction.

It hit the wall beside Simeon's head and rolled across the floor. He stopped in his tracks and glanced down at the bullet which fell still at his feet. He stood on it, his face or reaction not visible to Clara. She could only see his back. Her heart thumped in an uncontrollable rhythm, still full of the intense fear and anger that had caused her to act on impulse, but now it was slowly fading. She started to realise how _stupid_ that had been. She was basically urging Simeon on, tempting him to do his worst. He had hired men who could hunt her down without a single trace leading back to him. All he had to do was give an order, an instruction. Deep down, a part of her didn't care. She was partly glad she'd shown Simeon she wasn't a helpless girl who could be intimidated.

Davros made an angry move in her direction, but Simeon raised his hand and pressed it against his friend's chest, holding him back. He didn't look at her. His back was still turned. It was like staring at an enemy with no face.

"Thank you very much, Miss Oswald. You've made yourself quite clear."

And with that, he pushed his two colleagues through the doors, before letting them swing shut behind him.

* * *

Clara took a moment to let herself breathe freely. She reached for the wall to lean against, her hand shooting up to her heart. When had her hands started shaking? She could feel a little bit of panic taint her thoughts and she was doing everything she could to push it back. As fast as she could, she ran out of the corridor and up the stairs, only thinking of the Doctor. Only John could calm her down now.

When she reached reception, John was standing with Vastra, his hands in his pockets and his back towards the stairwell Clara was running up from. He must've heard her footsteps because as soon as she emerged he spun around, smiling.

His face fell when he saw her.

Her lips were white and she looked as if she was shaking. John held his arms out, reaching for her, and when she was close enough he held her shoulders. "Clara, what's wrong? What happened?"

Vastra had noticed too. "Clara?"

But Clara was looking at the late-night receptionists and shook her head. "Not here. Outside. I just want to get home."

She was aware of how Vastra and John looked at one another, but right now, she didn't care. It was the truth; she just wanted to be home – whether that was in her flat or John's, she didn't really care. As long as John was there.

Vastra bid the receptionists goodnight and John handed back the handset of the phone. He must've just finished his phone call. _Conveniently,_ Clara told herself. They walked in silence through the foyer and to the outside car park, all the time John's hand was protectively placed on the small of Clara's back. As soon as Vastra confirmed no one could overhear, they both looked towards Clara.

She shivered against the cold night air. She could feel angry tears stinging her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "Simeon cornered me. In the basement. With Davros and Saxon guarding the door so I couldn't get away. I –"

"What did they do?" John demanded. "I saw them walk past me in the foyer when I was on the phone. I should've – what did they do, Clara? I'll –"

"Doctor, shut up. Let her finish," Vastra snapped.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. He just threatened me. Told me to keep out of his business. Then he" – Clara paused, her hand brushing back her fringe so she could rub her eyes – "gave me a bullet. Exactly the same one as last time."

"Bullet?" Vastra's eyes were wide. "Do you have it?"

Clara shook her head, tiredly. "No, no I threw it at him."

"You threw it at him?!"

"I was angry! Confused. I just reacted." She sighed as John wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "I just want to go home, Vastra. That's all I want."

Vastra was immediately sympathetic. She patted Clara's shoulder, her tone soft. "Yes, I understand, Clara. We can talk in the morning. Are you sure you're alright?"

Clara nodded. Vastra and John looked at one another again as Clara closed her eyes against John's chest. Vastra muttered another apology – in all honesty she didn't know what to do. She was lost. Poor Clara, this wasn't supposed to happen to her or anyone in Gallifrey. Vastra felt very protective of her friends, they were like family to her. She let John and Clara have their moment of comfort as she walked to where Jenny was waiting for her in the car, the worry hanging on her shoulders like she was wearing a heavy backpack.

John silently led Clara to the TARDIS, the recent news heavy on his heart. His stomach was swirling with emotions, much the same to what Clara was feeling. He was fiercely protective of the girl by his side. He should've been there for her if it wasn't for that stupid phone call – it had kept him stalling, attempted to stop him from reaching Clara in time. It had been a lucky escape. They could've done anything to her. She was lucky still to be alive, in John's eyes.

He was disappointed with himself. He was close to the point of heartbreak. More importantly, he was determined never to let that happen again. Clara wasn't going anywhere on her own in the main Executive Government buildings. Not anymore. He'd be with her one hundred per cent of the time. No risks. What would he do if he lost her?

It was clever what Simeon was doing. He was using Clara against him. Before, John didn't have anything Simeon could use. Now he had Clara. Scaring Clara was a direct warning to John – Simeon knew about their relationship, he could see John's connection to his personal researcher. He would do anything, _anything_ at all, to make sure Clara didn't get hurt. Simeon was playing in dangerous territory.

Clara admitted she wanted John to stay, so he decided it would be better to take them home to his house instead. She text Nina, who was apparently out on another date, so her friend wouldn't worry. Their conversation in the car was stiff, frozen, as if they both wanted to say something but neither knew how to say it. Clara had stopped shaking. The reality had started to sink in and her mind was feeling clearer.

Their silence continued as they entered John's warmly lit flat and fell down together on the sofa. Clara left her bag at the door with her coat on the new coat rack. She smiled as she pressed her face into one of the cushions on the sofa – the homely smell of John's flat which had been so new to her before, was truly welcoming now. She missed it when she was away from it for too long.

Beside her, John was staring at Clara resting her head on the cushion. He was conflicted between what his heart was telling him and what his head was stopping him from doing. It was an inner battle, tearing him apart as he watched how the orange light from his lamp shone on Clara's hair. Had he nearly lost her tonight? What if it went differently, what if he did lose her? The regret was painful to even think about, never mind the horror of experiencing it. Simeon was trying to pull them apart, every way he could. Could John live with himself if he didn't make the most of now? What if he did say the words he could only think about when he stared at her, and he did lose her? Would it just make it worse, or better?

He'd made up his mind when she opened her eyes to glance up at him.

"Clara," he started, shuffling closer. She raised her head and let him grab her hands so that they were nearly sitting on top of one another. "I'm sorry. I should've been there."

"No. No, he planned it, John," Clara explained, her voice soft. "There was nothing you could do."

But that hurt John even more. He cupped her face, absorbing every little detail as if he only had a short amount of time left to do so. His chest was aching, and he didn't know why; the last time he'd felt such a sensation was when his grandfather told him his parents were missing.

"If he does anything to you again…" John trailed off. Clara reached up to stroke his cheek. She was smiling faintly, her eyes glowing.

"Don't worry about me, okay? I can handle myself."

"I know, but…" he sighed. He couldn't control his words anymore, not around Clara. She had this magic about her that made it impossible for him not to spill his true feelings like a faulty tap. "It's worrying, I suppose, how much it hurts to think of you in any sort of – of danger. And I think I know why."

Clara didn't say anything. She stroked his cheek again, taking a moment to think of nothing but him. After a moment, she quietly asked, "Why?"

"I love you," he admitted. Plainly and simply. Then, in confirmation, stronger this time, he repeated, "I _love_ you."

It was the only thing he'd felt was true for a very long time. It felt like a lock inside his chest had been freed, just after it had reached an unbearable weight. Every day he realised he was falling in love with Clara Oswald more and more, and every day he wanted to tell her and when he didn't – the lock tightened. He was free now, released, and he'd never felt so happy in all of his life.

Clara beamed. She laughed, a nervous giggle, and squeezed his hands. The tears were back in her eyes but this time they were from happiness. Pure, untouched, joy. "I love you," she said in a rush, desperate to get the words out. "I do, John, I really love you."

John giggled as well. He kissed her, firmly, on the lips. He brushed away her tears as he felt them trickle onto his cheek. Clara grasped at him, wanting him closer, her chest swelling with adoration. It was simple, really, and yet so complicated. Sometimes love couldn't be explained and that didn't matter – as long as it was felt.

John's lips moved to Clara's throat, leaving butterfly trails across her neck. Her hands moved to his soft hair, her fingers weaving between his locks, a sigh escaping from her mouth as a deep warmth started to build in her stomach. She tipped the Doctor's head back to her lips as her hands roamed over his dishevelled shirt, gripping at the material, feeling for the skin underneath. He helped her along by unbuttoning some buttons for her, giving her further access as his lips played a tantalizing game with the skin at the top of her jaw, just beneath her earlobe. She ran her hands over his stomach, tickling his tight muscles and smiled as she felt him shiver. John's hands had moved to her hips, delicately feeling under her blouse, his fingertips trailing across her waist but falling shy of touching any further. Their lips had found each other again, kissing in a paced rhythm until Clara bit John's bottom lip. He moaned, his lips moving more quickly now as if the air was in short supply. The energy was static between their bodies. Clara's hand found John's underneath her blouse and she gently guided it to her breast, giving him permission. John parted from their fierce, fiery kiss and ever so slowly pressed light kisses to the bottom of her throat, leading down her chest, and stopped at the soft area just above her left breast, where he could feel the vibration of her heart. Clara closed her eyes, too absorbed in the action of his lips to think logically. She never wanted him to stop kissing her, to stop touching her, to stop making her feel like the brightest star in the sky.

"Clara," John warned, his voice tight with regret. "I think we should –"

She couldn't bear to hear him say the word 'stop.' "I want this, John," she said truthfully, a little breathy.

He pulled away to look at her, his eyes glazed over as he met her gaze. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been surer of anything in my life."

John was smiling, feeling giddy, completely caught up in Clara. As for Clara, all she could see was John. Only he could make her feel this way, as if her very skin was prickling with passion, and with every kiss, he unknowingly left her breathless. There was still so much to say, but right now, all they could do was feel. Right now, it was what they needed.

And so, she took his hand as he stood up, leading her to his bedroom.


End file.
